by Tricia Jones
Humiliated and heartsick, she swiped her fingers across her cheeks. If he was going to start with the platitudes she wouldn’t hear them while her face was stained with tears.
“So, what do you want to say, Rico?” she taunted, watching him button the shirt she’d almost ripped apart in her eagerness to get the slide of his flesh beneath her hands. “That you didn’t know what you were doing? That you were drunk? Angry?” Her breath hitched, but no tears accompanied her outburst. She didn’t feel like crying anymore. She felt incensed. Her body shook with it, her face burned.
“All of those things,” he said, pushing his hair back as he watched her retrieve her panties. “This was a mistake. I should never have let things get out of control that way. What I did was unforgivable.”
Faye struggled into her panties then smoothed down her dress. “Don’t worry about it,” she snapped, mortified at his words. “At least it did the trick. You seem to have sobered up well enough. Good to think I’m a better remedy than black coffee.”
Desperate to get out, she turned toward the door. But she couldn’t get the damned thing open. She pulled, tugged, cursed. The door wouldn’t budge. What had Rico done with the blessed key?
“Open the door,” she demanded, giving it another yank. “Please, just open the door.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“Well, you have.” She drew in a long shaky breath. “How could you, Rico?” How could you break my heart with such careless ease? Then throw away the pieces with a few meaningless words?
“I am sorry, cara.” He was behind her again. “I am so sorry.”
Faye pulled at the handle of the door. “Just let me out.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“No. We don’t need to talk. We have absolutely nothing we need to talk about. ” All I need is to get out of here, away from you. So far away that you never get the chance to hurt me again.
“I did not use anything.”
His quiet tone seeped through all the anger and frustration and let her focus on the words. The realization, and its implications, brought her head up. She stared at the door, at the rich mahogany panels, and a myriad of emotions stormed through her. A crazy thrill…a reckless desire…a sharp and fearsome dread…
He hadn’t used protection.
God.
“Faye?”
She swallowed. She couldn’t talk to him right now. Not when she felt this vulnerable, this humiliated, this terrified. Not when he’d have all the right answers ready for her to hear. All the right suggestions. He’d offer to take care of her, take care of things. She couldn’t bear to hear him say any of that, especially when he thought what they had shared had been a mistake, something to be fixed.
“It doesn’t matter.” She swallowed again, letting the lie formulate on her tongue. “I’m on the pill.”
For long moments there was silence and Faye prayed he’d simply accept it, that he wouldn’t question her, make her look in his eyes and say it again.
Her prayers were answered. He reached down and picked up a small brass key from where it had fallen on the richly patterned rug.
Faye watched through a blur as his long fingers turned the key in the lock. She kept watching as he reached for the handle.
“I am sorry, Faye,” he said, before opening the door and stepping back.
Faye flew through the door, keeping her head down as she passed stray wedding guests meandering through the marbled entrance hallway and children playing on the huge curving staircase. In the sanctity of her room, she slammed the door shut and dropped back against it. She slid to the floor as her legs gave way.
And wept.
Later, cried out and furious with herself for being gullible, she’d grabbed a pillow and beaten it against the wall, cursing Enrico Lavini for the unfeeling beast he was with every thump of feather against brick.
Memories faded with the sound of gravel crunching beneath car tires, and Faye gave herself a mental shake. She hadn’t meant to take the journey back to the past. In fact she’d promised herself over the years that she would never return to that part of her life. Ever. But many times she had. Not all the way, but certainly most of it, and she would feel Rico’s arms around her, the way his mouth fit perfectly with hers…but she would always stop herself before…
Heavens above, she was about to do it again.
Dinner, she thought, and a shower. Melita and Carla would return from their shopping trip shortly and she wanted to start preparing dinner before they arrived. Despite Carla’s protests that she should rest, Faye loved helping out in the huge rustic kitchen with its bang-up-to-date appliances and state of the art design.
As she slipped on her sandals she heard a richly accented voice giving instructions to his driver.
Enrico.
Her stomach leapt and then did the weirdest dance. It was because she had been thinking about—no, don’t go there again, she warned herself. Don’t ever go there again.
She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, aware she didn’t have on a scrap of make-up. As she’d been on her own in the house the whole afternoon, she hadn’t bothered with a bra beneath her clingy crimson tee shirt. Even more clingy since that trip down memory lane.
No way could she let him see her like this. Not in the very place it had happened. He’d know what she’d been thinking about. He’d take one look at her and know where her perilous thoughts had taken her.
Forgetting the catalogue on her lap she jumped up, intending to race for the stairs. Loose papers and notes scattered theatrically to the floor.
Faye muttered a curse as she bent to snatch up the papers. Her insides were still doing that ridiculous samba thing, which was stupid. He’d made his position clear enough, by action if not words. He didn’t want to be around her, couldn’t bear to be in her presence for more than a few moments without excusing himself. Didn’t that speak for itself?
She cursed again as more notes scattered to the floor.
“Such language for a lady.”
Faye jumped and spun around. Enrico stood framed in the French window, the sun at his back giving a surreal halo-effect to his muscular body. He looked like some sort of conquering warrior standing there, his suit jacket thrown casually over one shoulder and a black tee shirt displaying that solid chest. Faye stared for long moments.
“You’re back,” she managed, inwardly kicking herself for the redundant nature of her greeting. But then words seemed meaningless as she continued to stare at him. She could look at him all day and be left wanting more.
He strolled into the library, each step casting his face more clearly. Mouth-wateringly gorgeous in a rough, chiseled sort of way and, oh yes, she could look at him forever and still crave more.
“You have been busy.”
He stooped, inches from her legs, and gathered up the loose papers.
Faye wanted to step back but kept herself rooted. Damned if she’d let him see he unnerved her like this. “Well, it needs doing and I enjoy doing it.”
He rose, uncoiling like a snake, but twice as lethal. At least to her equilibrium.
She all but snatched the papers he held out, slipping them into the catalogue and hugging it to her like a precious child. She felt an acute and unsettling reaction to him—or rather her body did—shivering and shaking so badly he had to notice. She strengthened her stranglehold on the catalogue as her nipples tightened and her insides did a death-defying somersault.
Enrico tilted his head in the general direction of her predicament. “Ah, is this the infamous ledger?”
Faye drew it closer still, flattening her throbbing breasts. “Infamous?”
“I heard you have kept yourself busy rearranging the library. I only hope you have not taxed yourself unnecessarily.”
“I haven’t, and it was in need of some restructuring.” Talk, she thought. It was easier when she talked. Then she didn’t have to focus on the way her heart thumped. “Do you know you have first editions going
to rack and ruin, not to mention collections that need only one or two books to complete them. Acquire the missing books and the value of the whole collection could most likely double in price, triple even.”
Enrico listened with an indulgent glint in his eye. “Interesting.” He pursed his lips. “But make sure you get enough rest.”
Talking wasn’t doing much good, Faye realized, as sensations sizzled through her. She gripped the ledger until her fingers hurt. “I’m bored silly just sitting around here all day. Everyone watches me like a hawk, at your instruction no doubt. Besides, by doing this I feel I can pay you back in some way.”
His brow creased. “Pay me back?”
“For your kindness in allowing us to stay here.”
He threw his jacket over a nearby chair. “Please do not insult me, cara.”
Before she registered his intention, he’d snatched the ledger from her arms, his gaze falling to her breasts. “If I required payment from you I would demand it by more interesting means.”
He dropped the ledger onto a side table where it fell with a resounding thud. Then, quick as a beat, he had her breath jerking from her lungs as he grabbed her arms and pulled her against him.
“And would you make such payment, Faye?” He caught her chin when she tried to turn away. “I wonder what price would my kindness be worth to you? Exactly how high a price would you be willing to pay?”
Hot blood raced through her, burning her veins. She looked at his throat, that thick tanned column that made her mouth water. He jerked her chin giving her no option but to look in his eyes.
“Stop it.” She damned herself for the weakness in her voice. “I only meant—”
He gave her chin another jerk until their mouths were a breath away. “What exactly did you mean, Faye? Did you think that by insulting me, by offering me payment for your board and lodgings, I would keep my distance?”
His breath feathered over her lips, sending waves of awareness down her spine. “No, of course not.”
Suddenly his arms were around her and she was pressed against him. The hard, muscled strength of him seeping through her until her frenzied brain demanded he finish what he undoubtedly intended to start.
Kiss me, she willed him. Oh, God, just kiss me.
“Perhaps I have kept my distance for too long,” he ground out. “I should have dealt with this years ago, made things right.”
A mad joy hovered at the edges of her heart. “What are you saying?”
His eyes bored into hers, his voice deep and rough. “We made love,” he said as if it was something that might have slipped her mind. “Here in this room. Then you went to London, married my brother, and I never had the chance to make things right.”
The self-reproach in his tone poured icy water on her hopes. “What do you mean?” she asked her voice flat. “How did you expect to make things right?”
“I should have formally apologized to you for what happened, made sure you knew it was not your fault. That I—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Faye shook herself out of his arms, not even trying to cloak her anger. “You apologized all right. In fact, that’s all you did do, over and over. Told me how sorry you were.”
“You belonged to my brother. I had no right to take from you what was rightfully his.” He shook his head. “I had no right.”
She poked a finger into his granite chest. “Get this, Enrico. I don’t belong to anyone. And what I do—did—with my body is my business. It’s my right to decide who gets what.”
She stopped, dragging in much needed oxygen while she fought against the urge to tell him that if anyone had a right he did. He had every right. He was the father of her child. The only man she had ever loved. The man she loved still and always would.
“You are angry. You do not know what you are saying.”
“I’m angry all right. Do you know why? Do you?” She poked him in the chest again. “Because I’m sick and tired of you insinuating I don’t know who I am or what I want. I’m bloody fed up with you always telling me how I feel, what’s good for me.” She dragged in more air, her chest rising and falling with the effort. “I’ve had enough of this, Enrico. I’ve so had enough of this.”
His expression darkened. Nostrils flaring, chest heaving. He glared at her as if she were the devil incarnate.
Then he swore…and his mouth came down on hers.
No tenderness. No tentative play of lips. Just possession. Fierce and brutal.
And she was more than a match for it. Her fingers spiked into his hair, pulling his head down to take more. She wanted more…more… She wanted to pour into their kiss every long, lonely, aching moment of those eight years without him.
Harsh breathing filled the air, punctured only by fractured mutterings of pleasure—of encouragement. Not that Enrico needed any. His body pressed against hers, the hard, muscled strength of his arms keeping her close, allowing her little space to move.
Possessive hands slid down her back, molding her curves. Those long fingers dug in, squeezing and lifting until her pelvis was cradled tight to his. She tried to shimmy, but he held her too firmly.
The heat was so intense she marveled that she didn’t simply combust on the spot.
Without knowing why, she pulled back.
She gasped for air and watched him do the same. It was fear that had made her stop. She was scared. Though not of him. Never of him. It was the situation. The consequences.
She was scared of her lies, her treachery. What had they done? She and Teo. What had they stolen from Enrico? If they made love now she would have to tell him. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself telling him. And once he knew the truth he might never forgive her.
If she loved him, and she did with all her heart, she had to tell him first. Then, if he still wanted her, he could have her. Body and soul. For always. Forever.
There could be nothing less for either of them.
Even though she’d pulled back Enrico still had hold of her. His arms hadn’t slackened at all, if anything they’d grown more insistent.
“Bellezza.” He bent, trailing a line of kisses along her throat. “Come sei bella.”
Faye closed her eyes as her body flared beneath the onslaught of his mouth. Perhaps he wouldn’t think her beautiful at all once he knew the truth. What if he didn’t want to hold her, kiss her? What if he felt nothing but contempt?
It was vital she tell him first. Before they made love. For there to be any hope for them, she had to do it now. Now. She would make him understand, make him see that everything she had done had been… What? For the best? How on earth could she convince him of that? When right now she didn’t even believe it herself.
She had lied to him. The cruelest of lies. She had kept his child from him, allowed that child to be raised by another man. His brother. A hard thing for any man to accept, but for an Italian? And for one as proud, as fierce a believer in honor and family and duty as Enrico? He would never understand her reasons. Never believe she’d done only what she believed best for everyone concerned. Even if he’d wanted nothing more to do with her, refused to marry her, abandoned her completely, he would never have abandoned his child. His own flesh and blood. Look how fiercely he insisted on taking care of Melita when he assumed she was his niece. How much more ferocious would he be in his protection of a daughter?
Her whole being ached with the weight of it all. With what she stood to lose by telling him. But, regardless, she had to do it.
“Rico.” Forcing her eyes open, she eased her throat away from where it was currently being devoured by his mouth. “Rico, there’s something I have to tell you.”
But his mouth refused to release her throat and she was pressed up against him again. Oh, how was it that his hands seemed to fit perfectly around the curve of her backside?
“Rico.”
He growled, low and harsh, as he reached one hand around to cup her breast. “No words, cara mia. Just let me touch you.”
He tugged urgen
tly at her tee shirt, slipping his hand beneath the soft cotton. Long fingers skimmed over her ribcage, making her naked flesh tingle and her stomach muscles clench. She whimpered as his hand curved around her breast.
Her mind emptied as her body craved, the heavy dragging sensation in her pelvis forcing her forward until she ground her hips against him in a desperate attempt to find relief.
He swore again, ripe and harsh, urging her back until she was trapped between him and the wall. “Is this what you want, Faye?” he asked, his mouth feathering along her jaw as he pushed her tee shirt up, exposing her naked breasts. “My hands on you?” He stroked his thumb across her nipple, making her arch. “My mouth on you?”
Oh, yes! This was exactly what she wanted, what she craved. His hard strength taking her where she ached to go.
But some part of her frenzied brain spun a warning that she shouldn’t give in to this heady sensation of knowing—feeling—how much he wanted her, how much she still wanted him. How much she would always want him. Not before telling him, not before she… Heavens, she couldn’t remember what she needed to tell him, not with sensation piercing every atom of her being as the man she loved slowly devoured her.
His mouth claimed hers in a punishing kiss and she made a purring sound, pushing her breast into his hand and grinding her hips against him. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she slid her tongue over her bottom lip savoring his taste. His gaze followed the path of her tongue, then his shoulders rolled back and his jaw went tight. Abruptly, he released her, bracing his hands on the wall either side of her shoulders and lowering his head.
“Madre de Dio! How is it you make me want you beyond everything I know to be appropriate.”
He took several deep breaths before he looked up. The smoldering charcoal gaze had disappeared, replaced by that steely glare that lashed her heart.
“So, why don’t you just apologize and get it over with?” she mocked, pulling her tee shirt down to cover herself. “While you’re at it, why don’t you just remind me that I don’t know what I want or how I feel?”
He pushed away from the wall, turned sharply, and with his back to her snatched up his jacket. “You will receive no apology from me this time.”