‘Nor is it really a lie,’ he pointed out softly. ‘What we have is more than just a bit of fun.’
With all her heart, Caroline wanted to believe him, but caution allied with a keen sense of self-preservation prevented her from exploring that tantalising observation. How much more than just a bit of fun? she wanted to ask. How much did he really feel for her? Enough to one day love her?
She felt hopelessly vulnerable just thinking like that; she felt as though he might be able to see straight into her head and pluck out her most shameful, private thoughts and desires. She wondered whether he had not dangled that provocative statement to win her over. Giancarlo would not be averse to a little healthy manipulation if he thought it might suit his own ends. But he needn’t have bothered trying to butter her up, she thought gloomily. There was no way that she could ever conceive of jeopardising what had been a truly remarkable turnaround between father and son. She would have had to be downright heartless to have done so.
‘Okay,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘But not for long, Giancarlo.’
Lush lashes lowered over his eyes, shielding his expression. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll take it one day at a time.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
CAROLINE wished desperately that this new and artificial dimension to their relationship would somehow wake her up to the fact that they weren’t an item. A week ago, when they had launched themselves into this charade, she had tried to get her brain to overrule her rebellious heart and pull back from Giancarlo, but within hours of Alberto’s crazy misconceptions all her plans had nosedived in the face of one unavoidable truth.
They were supposedly a couple, madly in love, with the clamour of wedding bells chiming madly in the distance, so gestures of open physical affection were suddenly de rigeur. Giancarlo seemed to fling himself into the role of besotted lover with an enthusiasm that struck her as beyond the call of duty.
‘How on earth are we ever going to find the right time to break it to your father that we’re drifting apart, when you keep touching me every time we’re together? We’re not giving the impression of two people who have made a terrible mistake!’ she had cried, three days previously after a lazy day spent by his infinity pool. Those slight brushes against her, the way he had held her in the water under Alberto’s watchful gaze, were just brilliant at breaking down all her miserable defences. In fact, she was fast realising that she had no defences left. Now and again, she reminded herself to mutter something pointed to Giancarlo under her breath, but she was slowly succumbing to the myth they had fabricated around themselves.
‘One day at a time,’ he had reminded her gently.
He was beautifully, staggeringly, wonderfully irresistible and, although she knew that it was all a fiction which would of course backfire and injure her, she was lulled with each passing hour deeper and deeper into a feeling of treacherous happiness.
Alberto made no mention of their sleeping arrangements. Ideally, Caroline knew that she and Giancarlo should no longer be sleeping together. Ideally, she should be putting him at a distance, and sleeping with him was just the opposite of that. But every time that little voice of reason popped up, another more strident voice would take charge of the proceedings and tell her that she no longer had anything left to lose. She was with Giancarlo on borrowed time so why not just enjoy herself?
Besides, whether he was aware of it or not, he was burying all her noble intentions with his humour, his intelligence, his charm. Instead of feeling angry with him for putting her in an unenviable position with Alberto, she felt increasingly more vulnerable. With Alberto and Tessa, they explored the coastline, stopping to have lunch at any one of the little towns that clung valiantly to the hilltop from which they could overlook the limpid blue sea. Giancarlo was relaxed and lazily, heart-stoppingly attentive. Just walking hand in hand with him made her toes curl and her heart beat faster.
And now they were going to Milan for three days. The last time she had gone to Milan, her purpose for the visit had been entirely different. Today she was going because Giancarlo had stuff to do that needed his physical presence.
‘I think I should stay behind,’ she had suggested weakly, watching while he had unbuttoned her top and vaguely thinking that her protestations were getting weaker with every button undone.
‘You’re my beloved fiancée.’ Giancarlo had given her a slashing smile that brooked no argument. ‘You should want to see where I work and where I live.’
‘Your pretend fiancée.’
‘Let’s not get embroiled in semantics.’
By which time he had completely undone her blouse, rendering her instantly defenceless as he stared with brazen hunger at her abundant, bra-less breasts. As he closed his eyes, spread his hands over her shoulders and took one pouting nipple into his mouth, she completely forgot what she had been saying.
By the time they made it to Milan, Caroline had had ample opportunity to see Giancarlo in work mode. They had taken the train, because Giancarlo found it more relaxing, and also because he wanted the undisturbed time to focus and prepare for the series of meetings awaiting him in Milan. An entire first-class carriage had been reserved for them and they were waited on with the reverential subservience reserved for the very wealthy and the very powerful.
This was no longer the Giancarlo who wore low-slung shorts and loafers without socks and laughed when she tried to keep up with him in the swimming pool. This was a completely different Giancarlo, as evidenced in his smart suit, a charcoal-grey, pin-striped, hand-tailored affair, the jacket of which he had tossed on one of the seats. In front of his laptop computer—frowning as he scrolled down pages and pages of reports; engaging in conference calls which he conducted in a mixture of French, English and Italian, moving fluently between the languages as he spoke with one person then another—he was a different person.
Caroline attempted to appreciate the passing scenery but time and again her eyes were drawn back to him, fascinated at this aspect to the man she loved.
‘I’m just going to get in your way,’ she said at one point, and he looked up at her with a slow smile.
‘I hope so. Especially at night. In my bed. I definitely want you in my way then.’
It was late by the time they made it to Milan. Meetings would start in the morning, which was fine, because there was so much she wanted to see in the city that she had not found the time for on her previous visit. While Giancarlo worked, she would explore the city, and she had brought a number of guide books with her for that purpose.
Right now, as they were ushered into the chauffeur-driven car waiting for them at the station, she was just keen to see where he actually lived.
After the splendid seclusion of his villa on the coast and the peaceful tranquility of the view over the sea, the hectic frenzy of Milan, tourists and workers peopling the streets and pavements like ants on a mission, was an assault on all the senses. But it was temporary, for his apartment was in one of the small winding streets with its stunning eighteenth-century paving with a view of elegant gardens. Caroline didn’t need an estate agent to tell her that she was in one of the most prestigious postcodes in the city.
The building in front of which the air-conditioned car finally stopped was the last word in elegance. A historic palace, it had clearly been converted into apartments for the ultra-wealthy and was accessed via wrought-iron gates, as intricate as lace, which led into a beautiful courtyard.
She openly goggled as Giancarlo led the way through the courtyard into the ancient building and up to his penthouse which straddled the top two floors.
He barely seemed to notice the unparalleled, secluded luxury of his surroundings. In a vibrant city, the financial beating heart of Italy, this was an oasis.
His apartment was not at all what she had expected. Where his villa on the coast was cool and airy, with louvred windows and voile curtains that let the breeze in but kept the ferocity of the sun out, this was all dark, gleaming wooden floors, rich drapes, exquisite furniture
and deep, vibrant Persian rugs.
‘This is amazing,’ she breathed, standing still in one spot and slowly turning round in a circle so that she could take in the full entirety of the vast room into which she had been ushered.
Much more dramatically than ever before, she was struck by the huge, gaping chasm between them. Yes, they were lovers, and yes, he enjoyed her, lusted after her, desired her, couldn’t keep his hands off her, but really and truly they inhabited two completely different worlds. Her parents’ house was a tiny box compared to this apartment. In fact, the entire ground floor could probably have slotted neatly into the entrance hall in which she was now standing.
‘I’m glad you approve.’ He moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her long hair, breathing in the clean smell of her shampoo. She was wearing a flimsy cotton dress, with thin spaghetti straps and he slowly pulled these down, and from behind began unfastening the tiny pearl poppers. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he liked that. He had long disbanded any notion of her in fine lingerie. If he had his way, she would never wear any at all.
‘Show me the rest of the apartment.’ She began doing up the poppers he had undone but it was a wasted mission because as fast as she buttoned them up he proceeded to unbutton them all over again.
‘I’m hungry for you. I’ve had a long train trip with far too many people hovering in the background, making it impossible for me to touch you.’
Caroline laughed with the familiar pleasure of hearing him say things like that, things that made her feel womanly, desirable, heady and powerful all at the same time.
‘Why is sex so important to you?’ she murmured with a catch in her voice as he began playing with her breasts, his big body behind her so that she could lean against him, as weak as a kitten as his fingers teased the tips of her nipples into tight little buds.
‘Why do you always initiate deep and meaningful conversations when you know that talking is the last thing on my mind?’ But he chuckled softly. ‘I should be making inroads into my reports but I can’t stop wanting you for long enough,’ he murmured roughly.
‘I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’ She had arched back and was breathing quickly and unsteadily, eyes fluttering closed as he rolled the sensitised tips of her nipples between gentle fingers.
‘I think it’s a very good thing. Would you like to see my bedroom?’
‘I’d like to see the whole apartment, Giancarlo.’
He gave an elaborate sigh and released her with grudging reluctance. He had long abandoned the urge to get to the bottom of her appeal. He just knew that, the second he was in her presence, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. Hell, even when she wasn’t around she somehow still managed to infiltrate his brain so that images of her were never very far away. It was one reason he hadn’t hesitated to ask her to accompany him to Milan. He just couldn’t quite conceive not having her there when he wanted her. He also couldn’t believe how much time he had taken off work. He wondered whether his body had finally caught up with him after years of being chained to the work place.
‘Okay.’ He stepped back, watched with his hands in his pockets as she primly and regrettably did up all those annoying little pearl buttons that ran the length of her dress. ‘Guided tour of the apartment.’
While he was inclined to hurry over the details, Caroline took her time, stopping to admire every small fixture; gasping at the open fireplace in the sitting-room; stroking the soft velvet of the deep burgundy drapes; marvelling at the cunning way the modern appliances in the kitchen sat so comfortably alongside the old hand-painted Italian tiles on the wall and the exquisite kitchen table with its mosaic border and age-worn surface.
His office, likewise, was of the highest specification, geared for a man who was connected to the rest of the working world twenty-four-seven. Yet the desk that dominated the room looked to be centuries old and on the built-in mahogany shelves spanning two of the walls, first-edition books on the history of Italy nestled against law manuals and hardbacks on corporate tax.
Up a small series of squat stairs, four enormous bedrooms shared the upstairs space with a sitting-room in which resided the only television in the apartment.
‘Not that I use it much,’ Giancarlo commented when he saw her looking at the plasma screen. ‘Business news. That’s about it.’
‘Oh, you’re so boring, Giancarlo. Business news! Don’t you get enough business in your daily life without having to spend your leisure time watching more of it on the telly?’
Giancarlo threw back his head and laughed, looking at her with rich appreciation. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me boring before. You’re good for me, do you know that?’
‘Like a tonic, you mean?’ She smiled. ‘Well, I don’t think anyone has ever told me that before.’
‘Come into my bedroom,’ he urged her along, restlessly waiting as she poked her head into all of the bedrooms and emitted little cries of delight at something or other, details which he barely noticed from one day to the next. Yes, the tapestry on that wall behind that bed was certainly vibrant in colour; of course that tiffany lamp was beautiful and, sure, those narrow strips of stained glass on either side of the window were amazing. He couldn’t wait to get her to his bedroom. He was tormented at the prospect of touching her and feeling her smooth, soft, rounded body under his hands. His loss of self-control whenever she was around still managed to astound him.
‘Your mother must have been really proud of you, Giancarlo, to have seen you scale these heights.’
‘Mercenary as I now discover she really was?’ He shot her a crooked smile and Caroline frowned. ‘How long have you been storing up that question?’
‘You’re so contained and I didn’t want to bring up an uncomfortable subject. Not when things have been going so well between you and Alberto, yet I can’t help but think that you must be upset at finding out that things weren’t as you thought.’
‘Less than I might have imagined,’ Giancarlo confessed, linking his fingers with hers and leading her away from where she was heading towards one of the windows through which she would certainly exclaim at the view outside. It was one which still managed to impress him, and he was accustomed to it. ‘Hell, I should be livid at the fact that my mother rewrote the past and determined my future to suit the rules of her own game, but …’
But he wasn’t, because Caroline seemed to cushion him, seemed to be the soothing hand that was making acceptance easier. She was the softly spoken voice that blurred the edges of a bitterness that failed to surface. It made his head spin when he thought about it.
‘I’m old enough to be able to put things in perspective. When I was younger, I wasn’t. My youth helped determine my hardline attitude to my father but now that I’m older I see that my mother never really grew up. In a funny way, I think she would have been happier if Alberto really had been the guy she portrayed him as being. She would have found toughness easier to handle than understanding. He actually kept supporting her even when she had shown him that she was irresponsible with money, and would have taken everything and thrown it all away had Alberto not had the good sense to lock most of it up. He had bank statements going back for well over a decade.’
He hesitated. ‘Three years after we left, she made an attempt to get back with my father. He turned her down. I think that was when she decided that she could punish him by making sure he never saw me.’
‘How awful.’ Caroline’s eyes stung with sympathy but Giancarlo gave an expressive, philosophical shrug.
‘It’s in the past, and don’t feel sorry for me. Adriana might have had dubious motivations for her behaviour—she certainly did her best to screw up whatever relationship I might have had with my father—but she could also be great fun and something of an adventurer. It wasn’t all bad. She just spoke without thinking, acted without foreseeing consequences and was a little too gullible when it came to the opposite sex. In the end she was as much a victim of her own b
itterness as I was.’
They had reached his bedroom and he pushed open the door, gazing with boyish satisfaction at her look of pleasure as she tentatively stepped into the vast space.
One wall was entirely dominated by a massive arched window that offered a bird’s-eye view of Milan. She walked towards it, looked out and then turned round to find him watching her with a smile.
‘I know you think I’m gauche.’ She blushed.
‘Don’t worry about it. I happen to like that.’
‘Everything’s so grand in this apartment.’
‘I know. I never thought it would be my style. Maybe I find it restful, considering the remainder of my life is so hectic.’ He walked slowly towards her and Caroline felt that small frisson of anticipated pleasure as he held her gaze. ‘It’s easy to forget that the rest of the world exists outside this apartment.’ He curved one hand around her waist. With the other, he unhooked the heavy taupe drape from a cord, instantly shrouding the room in semi-darkness.
He gathered her into his arms and they made love slowly. He lingered on her body, drawing every last breath of pleasure out of her, and in turn she lingered over his so that the chocolate-brown sheets and covers on the bed became twisted under their bodies as they repositioned themselves to enjoy one another.
It was dark by the time they eventually surfaced. A single phone call ensured that food was brought to them so that they could eat in the apartment, although Caroline was laughingly appalled at the fact that his fridge was bare of all but the essentials.
Despite the opulence of the decor, this was strictly a bachelor’s apartment. Lazing around barefoot in one of his tee shirts, she teased him about his craziness in stocking the finest cheeses in his fridge but lacking eggs; having the best wines and yet no milk; and she pointed to all the shiny, gleaming gadgets and made him list which he was capable of using and which were never touched.
The Truth Behind his Touch Page 13