by India Grey
Oh, dear, was that sour voice really hers? She clamped her mouth shut against a further tirade of bitterness and focused instead on the red pulp in the sieve, mashing it with extra force.
‘I don’t think so. He was obviously knocked out by Alexander, but he must be very busy with training,’ Lizzie said soothingly. ‘Being a racing driver is a pretty full-time job.’
‘Try explaining that to Alexander when he asks fifty-seven times a day when Cristiano is coming to take him out in his car.’
There was a knock at the door. Wiping her hands on her jeans, Kate went to open it, catching sight of her pale, pinched face in the hall mirror as she did so. God, I look like a ghost, she thought despairingly. This morning, knowing Lizzie was dropping in and not wanting to face another barrage of concerned questions, she had at least forced herself to wash her hair. It was just a shame she couldn’t wash the dark circles away from under her eyes as well.
Another loud knock at the door made her jump. It was probably her mother. Arranging her face in what she hoped was the normal expression of someone who was perfectly happy and coping fine—although she wasn’t sure she knew what that was any more—she opened the door.
There, standing on the pavement, his dazzling dark beauty looking utterly out of place against the greystone drabness of Hartley Bridge, stood Cristiano.
Her heart stopped. Her mouth opened, but under his lazy, mocking gaze she found it was impossible to speak.
He, of course, didn’t have any such difficulty.
‘I’ve just driven for fifteen hours to get here, so please don’t tell me this is a bad time to call.’
His voice was husky, intimate, caressing. Kate felt the colour surge upwards into her cheeks as her stomach imploded with shameful want.
‘No, of course not,’ she said hoarsely, stepping aside to let him come in.
He didn’t get the chance. Alexander, coming into the hall to see who it was, had spotted him. Hurtling past Kate, he threw himself forward and Cristiano scooped him up in his arms.
‘Cristiano! You came back! Did you bring your car?’
‘Absolutely,’ Cristiano said gravely, turning around. The dark green sports car that Kate remembered from Courchevel was parked at the kerbside a little way along the street, looking as incongruous as a sabre-toothed tiger in a petting zoo. ‘I drove it all the way back from France so you could see it.’
‘Wow!’
‘We’re going,’ Lizzie whispered, giving Kate a hasty peck on the cheek and a meaningful look as she slid out of the door with Ruby—protesting hotly at being torn away from the television—wriggling in her arms. ‘Call me later.’
Cristiano set Alexander down, caught off guard by a sharp pang of reluctance to let him go. The drive through France had cut badly into his training schedule and cost about as much in petrol as the hire of a private jet, but it had been worth it, he acknowledged, watching Alexander approach the car. He stopped a few feet from it, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with wonder as he slowly looked it over. Smiling, Cristiano turned to Kate.
Instantly he felt the smile fade.
She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, the expression on her face unbearably sad. She was wearing faded jeans that clung to her long legs and some kind of long-sleeved T-shirt thing in soft, faded cotton. Although from the way Cristiano’s body was responding to seeing her again she might as well be wearing a black lace basque and crotchless panties.
‘How is he?’ he asked gruffly.
‘He’s good.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m good too.’
She didn’t look good, he thought. She looked as if she needed to be put to bed and allowed to sleep for a week. It was a noble sentiment, although he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to follow it through.
Alexander was jumping up and down on the pavement, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘Can we go in it? For a ride?’
‘Of course. Where would you like to go?’
‘To the seaside!’
Stepping forward quickly, Kate deliberately avoided looking at Cristiano.
‘Come in now, Alexander. It’s too cold for you to be outside without a coat,’ she said, hating the miserable, impatient note in her voice, and the way Alexander’s little face fell as he did as he was told, casting a final covetous glance over his shoulder at the car as he took her hand.
Why did Cristiano Maresca seem to have a knack of turning her into someone she didn’t want to be?
He caught hold of her elbow as she turned to follow Alexander inside, pulling her back so that they were both in the tiny porch. He seemed to fill it right up.
‘What’s the matter?’ His eyes were opaque. ‘You don’t like the idea?’
‘Can you even get a car seat in that thing? Because there’s no way—’
‘Relax, carina. I took the precaution of buying one to fit in case the one you had didn’t go in. So if that’s all…?’
‘It’s too far,’ she muttered, mustering all her defences against the onslaught of his nearness. ‘And too cold. He’s not well enough yet.’
Cristiano’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you said he was better?’
‘He is, but still—a whole day out, and you hardly know him. What would you do if he was ill? If he was sick in your lovely car?’
‘Hmm…Honestly?’
A faint smile touched his lips. Kate raised her chin, desperately trying not to let herself notice—his lips or the smile.
‘Yes,’ she said stiffly.
‘Get you to deal with it?’
‘Me?’ she gasped. ‘But—’
‘But I’m sure the situation won’t arise,’ he said softly, taking hold of her shoulders and steering her back into the house. ‘Alexander seems fine. Now, go and get whatever you need for a day at the beach in your freezing English weather and let’s get going.’
It was the kind of bright, blue-sky March day that from behind glass looked as if spring had arrived. The North Yorkshire Moors were a vivid patchwork of emerald-green and brown and purple as the wind chased cottonwool puffs of cloud across the huge, wide sky.
Sitting in the now-familiar passenger seat, Kate felt strangely numb. She had come full circle, she thought sadly. Often over the last four years she had congratulated herself on how much she had changed, matured from the tight-lipped, frightened girl who had first got into Cristiano Maresca’s car and sat petrified while he drove La Grande Corniche.
And yet here she was. More tight-lipped and frightened than ever.
In the back seat Alexander had started the journey in a state of high alert, sitting bolt upright in the new car seat, his head turning as he looked out at all the people who turned to stare at them as they roared up the high street in Hartley Bridge. But it was when they had got out onto the road over the moors that he had loved it most, when Cristiano had pressed his foot down. Alexander’s squeals of delight had been drowned out by the throaty roar of the engine as the car had leapt forward. Now he was in a kind of trance of happiness, looking out of the window for the first glimpse of the sea.
Kate glanced across at Cristiano, still not quite able to believe that he was really there. ‘I thought the Grand Prix season was starting soon,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I didn’t think I’d see you until it was over.’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘For a moment there it sounded like you missed me.’
Heat tingled into her cheeks again. No danger of anyone mistaking her for a ghost when Cristiano was around, she thought miserably. A tomato, perhaps…
‘Yes, well, Alexander’s been asking for you.’
‘I came as soon as I could.’
If she’d been hoping that he would elaborate on what he had come for, or how long he was staying, she was disappointed. Silence fell again.
‘How did your training go?’
Cristiano hid a wry smile. ‘OK.’
It wasn’t training, it was pre-season testing—as every one of the women h
e had slept with in the past would have known. Along with his exact lap times too, probably. The newest Campano model had caused quite a stir. From the moment Crisitano had got into the driving seat it had felt inexplicably right, and once he’d got out there on the circuit the demons that had dogged him since the accident had fallen away, and he had delivered a lap time that had made headlines on all the sports pages and several front pages as well.
No flashbacks, no panic attacks. Maybe Francine’s unorthodox treatment had worked after all.
Or maybe it had had nothing to do with Francine and everything to do with the woman beside him.
He’d got Suki to send Francine a case of vintage Krug anyway, but when he had tried to think of something to buy for Kate he’d been completely stuck. The gifts he usually bought for women—perfume or designer underwear, the odd piece of ostentatious jewellery for birthdays or to say thank you or goodbye—all seemed utterly crass when he thought of giving them to Kate.
‘Good.’ She had turned her head away and was looking out of the window. Her voice was cold and flat.
Cristiano felt a sudden surge of anger and frustration. Gesu, getting into that car with the eyes of the world upon him had been one of the hardest and most frightening things he’d ever done. Everyone had been waiting to see whether he could still do it, whether he had lost his nerve. Everyone had been expecting him to fail, just as they always had.
Hell, he had expected it, and it had been more important to him than ever not to let it happen. It wasn’t just the ghost of his mother that he had to prove himself to, it was his son.
And Kate, it seemed. He hadn’t realised until now, when she turned her head away and dismissed the achievement that had set the racing world into a tailspin of excitement in one cool word, that he wanted to prove himself to her too.
‘The sea!’ Alexander’s jubilant cry from the back seat broke through his thoughts. ‘Look, look—there it is!’
To the right of the road the land fell away, giving an uninterrupted view over the bay. A signpost pointed to a narrow lane.
‘It’s down there,’ Kate said.
The road that led down to a tiny village clinging to the rocks above the sea was so steep it made Courchevel look like a cricket pitch. The hedges scraped against the sides of the car and the engine throbbed as Cristiano eased it carefully round the twisting bends to a deserted car park overlooking the beach.
Released from his car seat, Alexander raced off in the direction of the path down to the sand.
‘Alexander, come back! You need to put a coat on, and your wellies!’ Kate shouted, but the keen wind took her voice, carrying it upwards to where the seagulls wheeled and shrieked.
‘He seems to know where he’s going,’ Cristiano remarked dryly.
‘We come here quite often.’ Kate spoke in an absent-minded undertone. Her eyes were fixed on the little boy, a frown of anxiety between them.
‘Let’s just bring his things. He’s too excited to feel the cold anyway.’
‘That’s not the point. He shouldn’t run away—there could be cars or…or he could fall, or…’
‘Kate, stop.’
Reaching up, he captured her face between his hands, gently pulling it round so she had no choice but to look at him. Her eyes were shadowed with anguish, so that instead of the clear sunlit blue he remembered from Courchevel they were the same dull grey as the icy North Sea behind them. Cristiano felt a leap of something sudden and painful inside him.
Desire, yes, but he’d expected that; since Courchevel his sexual appetite had returned with a vengeance. But it was something else too. That need to protect her. To take away the worry and the pain and make her into the woman with the shy smile who had worn his shirt and brought him breakfast in bed.
To slay dragons for her.
‘He’s OK,’ he said softly, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. Her mouth was trembling slightly. He could feel it as his lips met hers.
It was the gentlest, most tentative of kisses—a world away from the ones they had shared before, in the Casino at Monaco and the darkness of the snowy pine forests. And yet Cristiano felt the foundations of his world shift a little. In the few brief seconds that their lips were touching it was as if he had taken a step in the dark and missed his footing…
And then she was pulling away from him, stepping backwards, ducking her head so that her hair swung forward, hiding her face.
‘Alexander. I need to find him,’ she said in a choked voice, grabbing his coat and boots from the back of the car. And then she was gone.
Kate walked down the beach with rapid, furious strides, welcoming the roar of the waves in her head and the bitter sting of the wind against her cheeks.
Maybe it might bring her to her senses.
Of all the stupid, self-destructive, irresponsible things to do, kissing Cristiano in the car park had to be just about the most spectacular. Or letting him kiss her, she thought with an inward groan of misery and despair. To him, something as trivial as a kiss meant nothing—an image flashed into her mind of the girls she had seen at the Monaco Grand Prix four years ago, in their hotpants and bikini tops, draping themselves over the drivers—whereas to her…
To her it was oxygen to a flame that she was trying to extinguish, fuel for a fire that would consume her if she let it take hold again. He made her lose sight of reality. Of what was important. Of Alexander.
She would never make that mistake again.
Alexander was up ahead, running down towards the sea, occasionally wheeling back on himself to look at something on the sand or leaping over a rock. The tide was half out, and Kate’s heart turned over, aching with love as she watched his slender legs pounding the hard sand, his dark hair ruffled by the wind. She should have brought a hat for him, she thought anxiously. He’d get earache, or…
‘He looks pretty happy.’
Automatically she stiffened, steeling herself against the sexiness of that husky Italian drawl.
‘He looks cold.’
‘So do you.’
And the next thing she knew he had draped his coat over her shoulders, was taking off the whisper-soft cashmere scarf he was wearing. Hooking it around her neck, he pulled the ends of it so she was drawn closer to him, wrapping it around her. His narrow, slightly almond-shaped eyes were as warm and dark as an espresso. The heat of his body enfolded her, the scent of him filling her head.
‘You’re so busy looking after Alexander you forget to look after yourself.’
It was true, she realised. She had been so preoccupied with Alexander not wearing a coat that she’d forgotten to put hers on. The kiss hadn’t helped her think about practicalities like that either.
She closed her eyes. Oh, God, it was so hard, this staying strong, and she was so tired. So tired of waiting for the next disaster, being on high alert for the next life-threatening danger. So tired of fighting her feelings for him all the time.
‘Look, a huge jellyfish!’
Alexander’s voice reached her distantly, over the roar of the wind and waves. Instantly her eyes snapped open. ‘Don’t touch it!’ she called back, but Cristiano was already walking across to him, covering the sand quickly with his long strides. For a moment she watched him, mesmerised by the way the wind caught his hair and flattened his shirt against him, outlining the hard contours of the body she knew so well.
The body that had brought her such pleasure…In the pool at Monaco in the warm darkness of the Côte D’Azur night, and in the snowy silence of the Alpine chalet…Each time different, but every one so intense and exquisite that her body trembled just at her remembering…
Guiltily she jerked herself out of her mini-fantasy, and was about to follow when something stopped her. Cristiano and Alexander were both bending over the jellyfish on the sand, their faces wearing identical expressions of absorbed fascination. Cristiano had Alexander’s hand in his, imperceptibly holding him back in case he should decide to try to pick it up…
And in that moment it
struck her that for the first time in four years she wasn’t solely responsible for her son’s safety, or his happiness.
That, for now at least, she had someone to share the load.
The relief was almost overwhelming.
Chapter Twelve
THE tide came in, gradually covering the expanse of flat, smooth sand on which Cristiano and Alexander played chase and looked for driftwood and flat stones to skim into the waves. In the absence of a bucket and spade to build a sand-castle they had constructed an island, hollowing out a moat around it. Cristiano had been hugely amused when Alexander suggested that they put a racetrack on it, and they had become deeply involved in planning the perfect layout of straights and corners.
Straightening up, Cristiano was surprised to see how close the sea was, and to realise that the clouds had come in, covering the sun. He smiled wryly to himself. He was someone who measured out his life, his success, in thousandths of a second, and yet he’d been so fascinated by seeing the world through this little boy’s eyes that he’d completely lost track of time.
‘I think it’s time we went back to your mamma, don’t you?’
They began to walk back to where Kate was sitting in the shelter of the cliffs. He had been aware of her all the time, wrapped in his coat, her knees tucked up and her chin resting on them as she looked out to sea.
But since he’d been aware of her all the time he’d been away, he guessed that was hardly surprising. Even thousands of miles apart he’d found it impossible to stop wondering how she was, what she was doing.
At the far end of the beach a cluster of tiny greystone cottages huddled against the cliffs, as if cowering there from the pounding waves. Behind them the moors unfolded into the distance, a lonely expanse of green dotted with sheep and criss-crossed by uneven stone walls.
It was hardly the Amalfi coast, he thought sardonically, and yet there was something wild and beautiful about it. A quietness that caught you deep inside and made you want to come back. You could spend your life here and not get tired of watching the sea change colour and the shadows move across the hills.