by Miranda Lee
‘Are you ready, Carly?’ he said, turning to her.
Why had she ever doubted him? Why had she ever doubted Livvie? Throwing her arms around Livvie’s neck, she hugged her tight, begging her softly, ‘Come and see me soon.’
‘I will,’ Livvie assured her in the same passionate undertone.
Lorenzo was quiet on the drive back to the airport and Carly’s cheeks were burning as she imagined what he must be thinking. Her family home was shabby and parochial in comparison to his elegant city centre penthouse. She’d never seen her childhood home through a visitor’s eyes before, never felt the tensions that existed between her mother and father to this extent.
The saddest thing was that she could remember a time when love was king, and possessions, like people’s position in life, took second place. But that had been a long time ago, and seemed now almost like a dream that had never existed outside her imagination.
He was quiet because he was thinking about the suburban house they’d just left. In so many respects it was superior to the chaotic family home where he’d been brought up, but in the ways that mattered Carly’s family home was impoverished. There were many more ways that cruelty could be dealt than in a blow, and Carly had done well to get away and forge a life for herself. He was so proud of her; her strength of character shone through everything he’d seen today.
‘Lorenzo, I’m so sorry—’
‘Sorry? For what?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’ She met his gaze fearlessly as she always did.
‘Not to me.’ He squeezed her hand.
‘You don’t have to be kind,’ she insisted, pulling away. ‘I know what you were trying to do back there.’
‘Do you?’ He smiled as he saw her cheeks pink up. ‘You have no idea,’ he assured her. Dragging her close, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb pads and then he kissed her and kept on kissing her until she believed him.
It was too late and too stormy to fly back to London, and so Lorenzo asked the chauffeur to take them to the nearest luxury hotel that had a room to spare.
‘On Christmas Eve in Manchester?’ Carly said, turning to look at him in surprise.
Her eyes were tear-stained and he knew she was still hurting. The damage her mother had done wasn’t something that could be eradicated in a few hours; it would take a lot more time than that. Frustration was gnawing away inside him because he’d failed to shield her from the hurt. He wanted to reach inside her and wrench it out. He wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her and kiss that look off her face. He wanted to hold her hand and take her into a park where they could fool around and feed the ducks, and she would laugh. She didn’t laugh much, and now he knew why.
‘So what did you think of my family?’ she asked him.
‘I liked your sister.’ He smiled as he spoke. What was not to like? Livvie was childlike and eager to please, and almost as wounded as Carly in her way.
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’
His brows drew together as he thought about it. Olivia was certainly a pleasure to look at in the same way he might enjoy looking at an interesting work of art, but did she move him? Did she make him feel like Carly made him feel? Not in a million years. He felt warm towards Olivia because of the way Olivia felt about her sister, and that was it. ‘She’s not as beautiful as you,’ he said, holding Carly’s gaze. And then he kissed her. She made him feel so good. She was beautiful inside and out. Maybe Olivia was too, but he had no interest in finding out. He’d found the woman he wanted.
‘And my father?’
‘Henpecked,’ he said bluntly, pulling back to answer her as she deserved. ‘Though an interesting man with an interesting story to tell about his life and his hobbies.’
‘Do you really think so?’ She looked astounded.
‘Yes, I do. Did you know, for instance, that he builds model airplanes in his shed?’
‘No,’ Carly said with amazement. ‘I only hope mother doesn’t put a stop to it. I can’t imagine she’d like all that dust and glue flying about—’
‘Talking of flying,’ he interrupted, ‘I’ve promised to take your father up with me one day.’ As he spoke his jaw firmed in a way that told her he would do that regardless of what anyone else thought about the idea.
‘And my mother?’ she asked him softly, staring down at her hands.
‘Your mother is tense and anxious like a lot of people are when they encounter something new, or something beyond their control.’
She seemed relieved he hadn’t gone on the attack. ‘Taking my father flying is certainly that!’
‘She loves him in her way, and I think she’ll worry about him in the same way she worries about you.’
She made a dismissive sound at that. ‘Don’t get carried away, Lorenzo. I know you’re good with words, but we’re not in court now. I don’t mind. You can tell me exactly what you think.’
But she would mind. Whatever Mrs Tate was like she was Carly’s mother. ‘Your mother might relax more if she trusted her children to get on with their lives,’ he said carefully. ‘She doesn’t need to find a husband for Olivia or a career for you. You’re both capable of doing that for yourselves.’
‘Do you think Olivia should have a husband?’
There was an edge in her voice.
‘It’s up to Olivia. I think she should start by finding some work outside the home she cares about, and then she would feel liberated.’
‘And me?’
‘A home life outside your work?’ he suggested dryly.
‘How profound you’ve become, Signor Domenico,’ she mocked him.
‘Carly, I haven’t changed.’ He touched her hand. ‘And now … I think we’ve arrived.’ He gazed out of the tinted window as the limousine slowed to a halt.
As Lorenzo came round to her side of the car Carly couldn’t help wondering how far he would go to give all those things he’d talked about for Olivia and for her a helping hand. She pushed her concerns to one side as he gave the driver a generous tip and then asked the man to pick them up early the next morning.
‘Early?’ The word slipped out before she could stop herself.
‘Was that a complaint?’ Lorenzo challenged softly, taking hold of her hand.
‘Lorenzo, this is fabulous …’
He had brought her to an exquisitely restored Georgian manor house deep in the Cheshire countryside. It was an award-winning hotel, Carly learned from reading one of their embossed cards while Lorenzo checked them in. The village was chocolate-box picture-perfect, the house lovely, and their welcome warm and unpretentious. It was very Lorenzo, she concluded.
‘Only the best is good enough for you, bella signorina,’ he said, gesturing towards the staircase.
The best turned out to be a sumptuous suite with a vast four-poster bed in the centre of the bedroom. The bed was dressed with ivory silk, and there was every conceivable aid to comfort in the room. There was also a space-age bathroom down the tiny hallway full of luxury products that could easily tempt you to stay for ever, and a small sitting room with an elegant dining room off. ‘You really didn’t have to go to all this expense,’ Carly exclaimed as she gazed around. ‘But I’m glad you did,’ she added mischievously.
He started to laugh. Nothing made him happier than seeing Carly smile. As he watched she tried out the mattress, bouncing on it. He’d restrained himself long enough. Dropping down beside her, he brought her into his arms. She tasted wonderful; her skin was soft and fragrant like a peach, and he was ravenous for fruit …
‘We’re wearing far too many clothes,’ she pointed out sensibly.
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ His face was close to hers and he smiled against the plump, yielding cushion of her lips. ‘But there’s one thing I want you to do first …’
She yelped in disappointment as he moved away. ‘What?’ she said, running her hand down his back in a way that was guaranteed to change his mind if he didn’t move fast. ‘My letter,’ he reminded her. ‘
Did you bring it with you?’
The erotic mist slowly lifted from her eyes. She’d searched for the letter after he’d told her about it, but she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to read it. ‘Yes, of course I did … It’s in my handbag—’
‘Good. I want you to read it …’
Fear took the place of desire on her face. ‘Now?’ she said, frowning anxiously. At his nod she slipped off the bed without another word.
She handled the heavy vellum fearfully, tracing her finger over Lorenzo’s bold black writing. How was it that every time things were going well reality stuck its oar in and spoiled everything? She stood with her back to him so she could hide her feelings, but then, as if some internal starter gun had gone off inside her head, she ripped furiously at the envelope, pulling out the single sheet.
Her gaze, so well trained, so accustomed to studying each word in sequence to be sure she didn’t miss anything important, hopped straight to the bottom of the page where Lorenzo had written the three most important words in the English language: I love you.
She stared at them unblinking for a while, standing motionless until it finally sank in, and then, returning to the beginning of the letter, she read it through. When she’d finished she held the sheet to her chest, and then pulled it away again to read it through once more. She was terrified as she began reading that the words might have changed, or disappeared; that they might be nothing more than a figment of her imagination. But they were still there: I love you; signed, Lorenzo.
He loved her? Lorenzo loved her?
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, turning to face him. ‘If I’d had any idea … If I hadn’t been such an idiot after the interview, I’d have read this and saved us both a lot of trouble …’ Lorenzo had resigned from the scholarship project, but had decided to continue his career at the bar in London. He was asking her to stay with him whatever she decided to do in life, but he asked her to think about the future very carefully and not to hurry into anything.
‘So many thoughts in your eyes,’ Lorenzo observed quietly. ‘Are you going to share any of them with me?’
‘I love you too … more than anything in the world.’
‘And you’re not hurting too badly because of the scholarship?’
‘The scholarship? No.’ She had almost forgotten it. It was behind her now, and only the shadow of her parents’ disappointment remained.
‘And the future?’ Lorenzo prompted her.
She did have an idea what she would like to do, but every time she thought about it her mother’s face flashed into her mind.
‘You must have thought about it.’
‘I have …’ And him. And his reaction when she told him. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face that now. ‘I think …’
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
‘I think I don’t want to think …’ Her expression took on meaning.
‘Well, I want you to think,’ he said, still not coming any closer. ‘And I want you to share those thoughts with me. All I want is for you to be happy, and I know you well enough to know that drifting aimlessly through life isn’t your style. To be happy you have to have a goal, Carly. You know that. You’ve always grasped the nettle in the past and made something good out of it. What’s holding you back now?’
She knew what she wanted to do, but also knew it would sound ridiculous when she told him. ‘I love you, and that’s enough.’
‘Really?’ His expression changed from sultry to sober in a heartbeat. ‘Love takes more than words, Carly. It takes commitment and hard work. And you won’t have the energy for that if you become bored, which, knowing you, I know you will. Look at your sister, Olivia—don’t you think she longs to find something to do?’
‘If law isn’t for me I’m not sure I have the confidence after all these years of training to try anything else. It’s a lot to give up—’
‘Rubbish. I never heard such nonsense. If the past is holding you back it’s time you moved on. Learn from it and then break free.’ He paused for a moment and then said, ‘Are you ready to share a glass of champagne?’
That was a loaded question, and everything hung on her reply.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CARLY CHOSE MARINATED goat’s cheese with mandarin and honey-peppercorn dressing, followed by grilled swordfish with red pepper and fresh tomato coulis, while Lorenzo selected Thai-style rosti fish cakes, followed by Cajun-spiced tuna with cucumber crème fraîche, but then he ordered chocolate fondue for two with fresh dipping fruit …
‘And champagne,’ Carly reminded him.
‘Are you sure?’ His eyes were serious.
‘Never more so …’
He placed the room-service order briskly and then dragged her into his arms. ‘This is all I want, all I care about; you—’ His voice was laced with passion, and as he kissed her champagne quickly became an afterthought, though he had ordered a second bottle to be kept on ice for them, just in case. ‘We might need a few crates more,’ he pointed out when she exclaimed at his extravagance. ‘If you decide to take a bath in it …’
‘Shall we leave that for the tabloids?’ Carly suggested, wondering if she might burst with happiness.
‘As long as we don’t part with the hot chocolate sauce,’ Lorenzo said wickedly.
‘You read my mind again,’ Carly said happily.
Lorenzo insisted on feeding her the best bits from his plate, and the chocolate fondue was no exception, though he seemed to be keeping most of it for himself. Not that she objected to being a fruit plate. The peach was cool, the segments of orange cooler still, and with a dribble of icy cold cream, augmented by hot chocolate sauce and a sprinkling of nuts she was nothing if not deliciously aroused.
There wasn’t a part of her to be left neglected, Lorenzo declared, and he was as thorough as he had promised to be, right down to the swathes of towels he made her lie on while he ministered to her needs on the bed. Her clothes were scattered round the floor, as were his. Her body was in raging torment for him, but he refused to hurry. She must learn to be patient, he insisted, slipping one of her legs over his shoulders. He was going to finish every scrap of the chocolate sauce, he assured her, dribbling it in a warm stream onto her most sensitive, her most secret place.
Not a secret any more, at least, not to Lorenzo. She had never felt a sensation like it. The insistent pressure of the stream of chocolate, the rasp of Lorenzo’s tongue and the heat of his breath, the rhythmic sucking motion of his lips; sensation didn’t come any better than this, and yet every time she drew close he drew back.
‘Are you determined to send me mad?’
‘Haven’t I taught you anything about the benefits of delay?” he countered, licking chocolate off his lips as he stared down at her.
‘You have a very healthy appetite,’ Carly observed, moving restlessly as Lorenzo examined the fruit bowl to see what was left.
‘And I love apple, in particular. It’s so firm and juicy,’ he said, doing incredible things with it.
She bucked towards him as he continued his experiments with the fruit salad. ‘You can’t leave me like this,’ she complained when every piece of fruit had been eaten, and Lorenzo paused to wipe his hands on a hot towel. ‘I might die of frustration.’
‘Somehow I doubt that,’ he said with a confidence that raised her to new levels of arousal. ‘So you want me?’ he said.
‘Don’t tease me, Lorenzo, you know I do.’
His wicked gaze challenged her. ‘Show me …’
Drawing her knees back, she offered herself to him.
‘Tell me …’
She begged him to take her in words she hardly recognised, begged him to ease the ache inside her where she needed him to be, so firm and hard and strong. He came to her then, and she writhed beneath him, inviting him on. He took control, his strong hands positioning her; one cradled her buttocks, while the other cupped her face, holding for his first impassioned, love-hungry kiss. The time for subtlety had long passed and now de
sire overtook them.
Lorenzo’s first thrust sank deep. It was a raw display of sexual power and sexual need that filled and stretched her, and sent them both to the very edge right away, but as he knew this he withdrew slowly … withdrew completely. She whimpered her complaint, and so, with his lazy, confident smile tugging at the corners of his mouth he took her very slowly again. He went as deep as he could, taking his time to allow her to relish every moment, until every muscle and nerve ending she possessed was mad for more. ‘Faster,’ she begged him hoarsely. ‘Faster now …’
Lorenzo’s answer was to repeat the sensation-packed stealth invasion again and again until she couldn’t remain still beneath him a second longer. Lifting her hips towards him, she claimed him greedily, drawing him deep into the heart of her womb where she held him with powerful muscles until he obeyed her wishes. Pulling out, he thrust firmly, once, twice, and then in a gloriously rhythmical pattern at a much brisker pace.
‘More … more,’ she begged, working her body in the same rhythm as his. She craved fulfilment, but wanted it to last for ever. Lorenzo ground his hips against her to heighten her pleasure, while she clung to him in desperation until ecstasy claimed her. She was only dimly aware as she called out wildly that her abandoned cries had mingled with those of Lorenzo.
Each time they made love it was a revelation, Carly reflected drowsily as she lay safe in Lorenzo’s arms. They had showered, made love again and now they were sleeping together. She loved him, she loved everything about him. She loved his body and loved his mind. The feel of his naked flesh beneath her hands was addictive; the slide of muscle, the shift of limbs, the sheer weight of him and the power he exuded. Not to mention his finesse, Carly thought with pleasure, listening to her body’s quiet satisfaction. Lorenzo was magnificent, and he had put himself and all his skills at her disposal. What more could she ask? Gazing at him as he sprawled in contentment at her side, she had to confess he was even more beautiful than she had imagined when they first met. Perfectly proportioned, he was steel to her cushioned softness; they fitted perfectly together, and for the first time in her life her generous curves made sense. When she pressed her lips against his chest she could feel his heart beating steadily and strong; he was her anchor, her port in a storm …