by Tricia Jones
With some reluctance, he gave in. The fresh air would do her good and perhaps put some color back into that translucent flesh. He also gave in because he didn’t want her tiring herself any more by arguing with him.
She was still asleep when he and Melita returned from their shopping trip. He pressed a finger to his lips, steering his niece toward the villa where Carla waited for them. Melita skipped off with her many shopping bags, desperate to show off her new riding gear. Enrico made to follow, stopping to lift the light throw that had fallen from Faye’s shoulders. Her pale skin glistened, clear and soft and he fought back a flicker of lust as he covered it with the throw. He let his finger skim across the base of her neck, easing away the soft blonde hair that caressed her collar bone. A few itinerant strands lingered at the edge of her mouth.
Dio, that mouth.
Memories stirred, threatening to swamp him. He’d spent a night with her. Just one night. But it had ruined him for any other woman. Perhaps that was his penance.
She had been fresh and innocent when he had taken her, willing enough in her naiveté but hardly old enough at seventeen to consider the implications of it. Just one week before, following an argument with his father, she’d sat next to him and confessed her love for another man—for Matteo—sending a fierce and crippling envy barreling through his system.
Her hair had been much longer then, the silky lengths feathering across the swell of her small breasts, then spearing down to her waist. But her mouth was rich and full, just as it was now. Her cavernous blue eyes had drawn him in like a siren’s lure—as they did still. He remembered the way her long legs felt around him, the way her scent had invaded his system, the way her soft breath whispered over his flesh as she’d gasped out his name.
What the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t know then, and he didn’t know now. His only excuse was that he hadn’t been thinking at all. Anger and alcohol had proven a deadly mix.
But now fate had given him the chance to make things right. Of sorts. Maybe by taking care of Matteo’s widow and child he could make reparation to his dead brother.
Spellbound, he continued to gaze down at Faye’s sleeping form, the lines and curves of her body visible beneath the soft throw. He couldn’t stop the memory of how those curves felt beneath his hands, beneath his body. How she’d reached out to him in sensual pleasure, how she’d begged him to take her…pleaded…
Fierce guilt burned through his system, coupled with a brutal desire for this woman who had belonged to his brother.
He fought the images that warred in his treacherous mind. Had she reached out to Matteo in the same way? Had she begged…pleaded…?
He ordered himself to stop before he drove himself into a frenzied hell.
He had no right to these thoughts. He’d had even less right to Faye. All those years ago, when he’d allowed anger at his father to fuel his lust for her, when she’d comforted him, tried to appease him. And how had he repaid her generosity?
With one night of hot, raw sex.
Shame washed over him. Dio, when he screwed up he certainly pulled out all the stops. In that one night, in the space of hours, he had broken a promise to Matteo’s mother, gotten himself involved in a bar brawl, punched his own father…
And stolen the virginity of his brother’s future wife.
Chapter Five
Dining on the terrace the following night, Faye realized she felt much better. She’d slept right through the night and dozed on and off during the day. Her chest was still sore but the pain in her back had eased.
Her insistence on being allowed to help Melita with her bath, read to her and tuck her into bed felt like a small victory and now, sitting across from Enrico, she let a smile play across her mouth.
“You look rested, cara.” Enrico sat back, the sleeves of a black silk shirt rolled to his elbows showcasing tanned forearms. His fingers played idly along the stem of his wineglass. “Make sure you do not overdo things.”
Faye felt the light evening breeze flutter over the top of her bare arms, then skim across the skin left exposed by her white linen shift dress with its scoop neckline. “I won’t overdo things.” She sipped sparkling grape juice. “But I am feeling better and I want to do things for Melita. I need to reassure her, heaven knows what’s going through her little mind right now.” Her words gained a frown from Enrico. “I wish we didn’t have to argue about that.”
He watched her with that steady gaze of his, the one that made her feel like he knew everything she was thinking while at the same time guarding every one of his own thoughts. He continued the slow stroke of his glass stem. “And I wish we did not have to argue about my wanting what is best for both of you. You are my brother’s widow and Melita his child. If you expect me to back off, to watch you exhaust yourself, you are heading for disappointment.”
Faye looked away as her stomach somersaulted. She should be grateful he readily accepted that Melita was his brother’s child, even if she would spend the rest of her life racked with guilt over her deception. For if he had the slightest inclination Melita was his, Faye’s life would no longer be worth living. If he was demanding and controlling while believing the child he protected was his niece, how on earth would he react knowing she was much more than that?
But how could he not know? Was she was the only one who saw Enrico in her—their—daughter? The same sharp eyes that missed nothing, the same proud set of shoulder, the same frightening tenacity. Surely he must have noticed that Melita didn’t share Matteo’s rather timid and unassuming nature.
But then she and Teo had gone to great lengths to make sure he would never have cause to doubt Melita’s parentage. They married almost as soon as Faye knew she was pregnant, making it easy to plant the lie that Melita was conceived on their wedding night and delivered prematurely.
What had she done?
Faye rolled the edges of her napkin as shameful warmth spread across her cheeks “I know you want what’s best for us, and I know you want to protect Melita. Just as you always protected Matteo.”
His scoff had her gaze lifting to clash with his. “It’s true,” she dropped the napkin. “You always looked out for him, despite everything that’s happened you always looked out for him.”
“Which is why he told me to stay away from you both,” he mocked. “Or perhaps he was concerned my brand of looking out for him would involve taking his wife to my bed again.”
Faye felt the flush creep down to her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What? Are you going to deny he warned me to stay away from you? That he did not know we had slept together? That he did not want to beat the hell out of me?”
“And if he’d beaten the hell out of you, would it have made him more of a man in your eyes? Perhaps then he would have reached those high family standards, perhaps then he would have been a true Lavini.”
“Well, I am sure if my future bride told me another man had just taken her virginity I might have delivered a punch or two.”
Faye was trapped and she knew it. If she lied and said Teo didn’t know they had slept together, Enrico would demand to know why his brother had instructed him to stay away from Faye. But if she confessed the real reason, that Teo had suggested marriage to their mutual advantage and demanded that Enrico keep his distance in order to protect the secrets at the heart of their pact… Well, she couldn’t confess that.
Although her heart pumped, she made herself meet his gaze. “I’m happy to say your brother wasn’t like you.”
“Evidently not.” He sat back, sipping his wine as he subjected her to that fierce scrutiny at which he excelled. Then his accusatory tone resonated through the Tuscan night. “I assume he did know about us?”
Faye raised her chin. In this, at least, she didn’t have to lie. “Yes. He knew.”
His nostrils flared, then he gave a slow nod. “And I was banished from your lives.”
Faye smoothed her palms over the soft white linen of her dress. “You were hard
ly banished, and you said yourself it was natural enough for Teo to want to retaliate somehow. He chose to avoid trouble, rather than confront it. That was just his way. He thought that asking you to stay away from us would avoid further unpleasantness. That was his way of handling the situation.”
“Perhaps more effective than a physical blow.” His eyes narrowed, but he kept them on her. “Had I been wise enough to adopt his approach, to avoid trouble rather than confront it, events might have taken a different turn. Had I walked away, the repercussions might have been less dramatic.”
One look at his expression and Faye knew he was referring to the night he had thrown a punch at his father, the night she had gone to placate him. The repercussions he referred to had nothing to do with being instructed to keep away from her, and everything to do with the night they’d had sex.
Had I walked away…
As her throat contracted, she reached for her water glass. “Your father provoked you,” she said, wanting to put the emphasis on the argument with his father, rather than what came afterward. “You were just sticking up for Teo.”
Silence reverberated through the clear night. The cool water she sipped made Faye’s flesh chill. She had to stop where her mind wanted to go, stop the memories of being in Rico’s arms, of how his tough body felt against hers, the play of muscle, the feel of skin, his special scent…
“What I did was unforgivable.”
Faye couldn’t look at him. It was as if he’d read her thoughts, been able to see into her head. She shook her head and looked down.
He was about to apologize. To confirm that what they’d shared had been a mistake. She couldn’t bear that. Couldn’t bear to know he had spent all those years regretting it.
Had I walked away…
“It’s all history now,” she said in a determined tone, reaching out for the crystal water jug. “None of it matters.”
Her hand wanted to shake as she poured herself water, but she wouldn’t allow it. How dare he think to apologize? She didn’t want it then, and she didn’t want it now.
“I’d like a tour of your vineyards,” Faye said, returning the jug to the table with a not-too-gentle thump. “Perhaps tomorrow, if you can spare the time.”
Something rustled in the bushes near the terrace, but neither one of them looked toward the direction of the sound. When Faye looked up, Enrico was eyeing her through narrowed slits. “I’ll be flying to London tomorrow.” He draped an arm across the back of his seat. “I have a meeting with the lawyers to go through Matteo’s affairs.”
Although she had anticipated the legalities, she hoped for later rather than sooner. “What time will we leave?”
His black brows drew together. “We?”
“Of course.” Her own eyebrows lifted. “Teo was my husband and I’m responsible for putting his affairs in order.” She offered up a silent prayer that those affairs wouldn’t be as bad as she feared they would, although common sense—and past history—indicated otherwise. She’d wanted to do this on her own, at least then she could safeguard her husband’s privacy. But some part of her knew Enrico would insist on accompanying her.
Carla hurried toward them with coffee and a silk wrap for Faye. She fussed over them before bustling back to the villa.
Enrico eased his coffee toward him. “You are not fit enough to travel, and there is nothing to be gained from taxing yourself further by dealing with legal matters. I will handle anything that arises.”
Faye’s stomach jumped. Would he? Would he handle knowing she had lied to him for years? Kept the cruelest of secrets? Would he handle knowing that his brother had gone through every penny of the inheritance Enrico had fought for on his behalf, and then some?
Going through Matteo’s affairs would raise all sorts of questions. Questions Faye didn’t know if she would be able to answer.
“I am fit enough to travel. Besides, the flight to London might jog my memory.”
“The flight over here had no such effect.”
“No, but I feel better now, stronger and—”
“Melita needs you here. You said yourself she is feeling vulnerable and needs her mother. Your leaving her now will do little to restore her peace of mind.”
Oh, the sneaky bastard. “Then I’ll take her with me. We can drop by my neighbor’s and check on the flat, and Melita can visit with Blaster. In fact, there’s absolutely no reason for you to be involved at all.” One glance at his tight features indicated she had a fight on her hands. “It’s my business.”
His eyes flashed. “It is family business. Lavini family business.”
“And I’m a Lavini, and Teo was my husband.”
“In name only, it seems.”
While Faye ignored the comment, she had less success ignoring the ripple of muscle as he shifted, folding his arms across his chest. She chastised herself, then focused on the matter at hand. Silently she acknowledged that there was no point in insisting she be allowed to handle Teo’s affairs on her own—Enrico would just wear her down. If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she was tough enough to handle both him, her physical recovery and all the legalities just yet, so she would have to settle for having him involved.
“What time will we leave in the morning?” she asked with a sigh.
He didn’t say anything as he came around to hold her chair. Faye glanced back at him as she stood. “What time, Enrico?”
He caught her wrap as it slipped from her shoulders, his fingers brushing hers as she reached for it at the same time. The sharp thrill of contact made her legs weaken. His mouth was inches from hers and she was powerless to stop her eyes zeroing in on its fullness. She remembered how wonderful his lips felt on hers…warm, firm and determined… How easily they had taken her from trembling teenager to wanton woman.
Was it her imagination, or did he keep his hand on her shoulder a moment too long? Did his eyes darken as they looked into hers? Did his mouth part slightly?
His fingers pressed into her flesh as he positioned the wrap on her shoulder, the movement breaking the spell her imagination was weaving. She suddenly felt awkward, embarrassed and…ridiculously aroused.
As he stepped back, Faye pulled the wrap tight around herself. Not that she needed it. Her body was burning up. But her pride needed it. Especially when he lifted his chin in an arrogant sweep, an imperious expression shadowing his face.
She raised her own chin. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said haughtily. “What time do we leave?”
He pushed his hands in his pockets. “When we are ready.”
Exasperated, Faye mumbled a goodnight and headed upstairs. Once in her room she made for the French windows. Leaning on the balcony rail, she looked out over the gardens toward the vineyards.
Having Enrico there when the lawyers delved into Matteo’s affairs was not an enticing prospect. He’d poke and pry into every single thing. While she might be able to fudge around some things, there was no way to avoid others. Especially those things best left alone. Enrico’s finding out about Teo’s lack of financial savvy might well prove the least of her worries. But she would make sure Teo came out of it with some dignity.
Faye clutched her wrap as the cool night breeze skittered around her. She drew in a breath, wishing her full memory would return so she could find answers to the questions that haunted her.
Why had she been traveling to Scotland with Teo? What was that money for?
Another business deal gone wrong? But where had the money come from?
She pressed her fingers to her temple. If only she could remember.
Then she would take her daughter and go home. She’d be happier away from Enrico, happier when she could get on with her life without him in it.
Faye tried to disregard the pesky inner voice that taunted, Liar.
Right now she had other things to focus on. Enrico believed she and his brother had married for love, that they had a child together, had built a life together…
If only he knew the truth.
But he never could. Never would. She’d make sure of that. Going to London tomorrow would help to finalize this whole mess once and for all.
Motivated to protect secrets and lies, Faye prepared for bed.
Downstairs, a lone lamp cast a solitary glow over the papers on his desk as Enrico leaned back in his chair and sipped brandy. Hearing Faye confirm his brother knew about them had torn open that slice to his heart that had never really healed. The sick feeling in his stomach that came from betraying the brother he had vowed to protect.
He’d always known Matteo knew the truth. Why else would he have insisted Enrico stay out of their lives? Faye would have told his brother. Lying would have played on her conscience, eaten her up. Her total lack of guile was something he admired most about her.
He tipped back his glass, but found the brandy did nothing to quell the emptiness coiling in his stomach.
How his brother must have hated him. Not only had Matteo lived with the injustice of paying for his mother’s devious nature, but also with the unfairness of birth order that made his elder brother the lone beneficiary of the Lavini wealth. And then, as if that were not enough, he’d suffered that same brother’s treachery. All the years spent trying to shield Matteo from the wrath of their father had come to this.
The protector had become the destroyer.
Enrico stared down at the empty glass in his hand, remembering how he and his father had argued in this very study where he now sat ruminating. On the eve of Ruggerio’s third marriage to a woman barely old enough to make it legal.
He’d tried one final time—unsuccessfully—to get his father to recognize Matteo in his will. He’d been on the verge of threatening to boycott his father’s wedding, realizing as he opened his mouth to do so that he was in danger of pressing his father’s most volatile of buttons.
Blackmail.
In the quiet familiarity of his surroundings, Enrico scoffed. It seemed he had more of his father in him than he cared to admit. Hadn’t he dug his heels in when his last lover had tried to coerce him into marriage?