by Lynne Graham
‘Obviously, I don’t want that either,’ she muttered tautly. ‘I’m willing to make compromises. Exactly what do you want from me?’
A chilling smile of triumph slashed Lucca’s cool, sensual mouth. His lean, hard-boned face was stunningly handsome but strikingly hard and unyielding. ‘Reparation.’
CHAPTER SIX
AROUND a day and a half later, Vivien tidied her hair in her bedroom. The once-cluttered room was a good deal emptier than it had been the day before when a removal firm had arrived to pack the clothes, toys, books and nursery goods she would be taking with her. Lucca’s promise of furnished accommodation had been welcome because Bernice was remaining in the house.
Reparation, Lucca had called the debt he said she owed him. She had been appalled by his threat to challenge her custody of Marco and in that same instant her choice had been made. When Lucca had made it clear that he was even prepared to use Marco’s ordeal in the street to represent her as being an unfit parent, she had been utterly devastated.
There never had been any middle ground with Lucca, she acknowledged unhappily. Either one was with him or one was against him. It did not take great imagination to guess where a soon-to-be ex-wife who had sinned against him figured on that scale. Yet to those he cared about Lucca was the very truest of friends, who would offer every possible support in adversity without any expectation of return. But Lucca also made a very cold and implacable enemy. Once she had held special status in his world but not any more, she conceded dully, painfully aware of what she had stupidly surrendered of her own accord.
She had no idea how his justifiable annoyance at seeing so little of Marco had translated into the passionate sexual encounter that he had allowed to take place between them. She found it impossible to believe that Lucca could have found her too tempting to resist. She was no Helen of Troy and scarcely so beautiful that she could deprive any mortal man of his wits. Of course, Lucca never had been either easily understood or predictable. Humiliatingly, he had calmly dismissed what they had shared as just sex. Was that the truth? Or simply what he preferred to believe? Wasn’t it still possible that that passion could spark again into something that might be built on firmer foundations? Even a new beginning?
With a guilty little quiver at her reluctance to let go of her own most precious dream, Vivien shut down that dangerous high-risk thought train. Ostensibly, she was moving to London at Lucca’s request solely for his benefit and her son’s. Conscience told her that she did owe Lucca some compensation for the effect the breakdown of their marriage had had on his relationship with Marco. But at the same time she was also clinging fast to those promising words, ‘friendly and informal’. Lucca was about to become part of her life again. She would see him, get the chance to talk to him and maybe the differences that lay between them could be slowly dissolved.
From such small and humble beginnings, acorns had grown into giant oaks, and, when it came to Lucca Saracino, she loved him enough to take the rough with the smooth and be patient. All she longed for was just one more chance at getting it right with him. She would do absolutely anything to get that chance. Her eyes stung with embarrassing tears and she blinked them back. Mortified by her own desperate fervour, she laid down the hairbrush and hurried downstairs. A car was coming to collect her and Marco.
Bernice strolled out of the kitchen with a glass of wine. ‘So you’re still going ahead with this?’
Beneath her sibling’s censorious appraisal, Vivien tensed. ‘Yes.’
‘I just can’t believe that you can let him make such a fool of you again.’ The tall brunette dealt Vivien a speaking look of disgust. ‘Lucca Saracino just jerks your strings like a puppet master and you do exactly what he wants!’
‘It’s really not like that.’ Vivien sighed, touched by what she deemed to be her sister’s partisan sympathies but wishing that the other woman would calm down enough to try and understand her point of view. ‘Lucca wants to see more of Marco and he deserves that chance. Lucca and Marco are really close. Seeing them together made me appreciate that Lucca is just as important to Marco as I am.’
Full raspberry-tinted mouth set in a scornful slant of disbelief, Bernice mimicked playing a violin. ‘So, you’ve resigned from your job and you’re moving back to London solely for the most pure of altruistic reasons?’
Her fair skin taking on a guilty pink hue, Vivien bent down to fuss with Jock’s carrier box. Behind the gated door, the little terrier was staging a massive sulk. ‘Maybe I’m just trying to make up for some of the mistakes I’ve made.’
‘Why can’t you admit the truth? You’ve still got the hots for Lucca and you’re being so accommodating because you’re hoping like hell that he’ll take you back!’
‘Well, if I am,’ Vivien said a little gruffly, ‘it would be my problem, not yours.’
Taken aback by that unexpectedly defiant response, Bernice gasped. ‘Don’t you have any shame? Any pride?’
Vivien considered those questions. Shame and pride had influenced the speed with which she had abandoned her marriage two years earlier. She had listened to Bernice’s tough talk then and perhaps she had listened rather too well. She had been terrified that if she hung around she would end up forgiving Lucca’s extra-marital activities. Horribly conscious of her own essential weakness where Lucca was concerned, Vivien had then got tough with herself. But this time around she was dealing with the reality that she was not the wholly innocent victim she had once believed herself to be. She had made a couple of huge errors with Lucca. He might not have been perfect husband material, but when he had been with her she had been incredibly happy. Admittedly, he hadn’t been with her very often. However, life without him had been deeply hollow and miserable.
‘That smug bastard you married must be loving every minute of this!’ Bernice slung at her with disdain.
Vivien looked up again with a reproachful frown. ‘Why do you dislike Lucca so much?’
Twin spots of red fired over her sibling’s cheekbones. She tossed her head, glossy long dark hair tumbling round her shoulders. ‘I just don’t like the way he treats you…you know that.’
But Vivien still felt bewildered by the pure depth of her sister’s animosity. ‘But why are you so vicious about him?’
A rare look of discomfiture clouded Bernice’s lovely face and then her sultry mouth twisted. ‘Possibly I know a thing or two about Lucca that would shock you!’
Silence fell, a sudden sharp silence laden with Vivien’s dismay and concern. ‘What do you mean?’
The bell went: the limo had arrived.
But Vivien was still staring at her sister. ‘What did you mean by what you just said?’ she repeated.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, I was only teasing!’ Bernice groaned, moving past the smaller woman to yank open the front door to the chauffeur. ‘Why do you take everything so seriously?’
Even as she waved goodbye to her sister, Vivien was still finding it hard to get that uneasy snatch of dialogue out of her head. Possibly her sibling did know things about Lucca that his wife did not. Before bankruptcy had claimed her business, Bernice’s boutique had been exceedingly fashionable and her rich clientele had often invited her to society parties. It was quite probable that when Lucca and Vivien had still been together Bernice would have heard rumours or tall stories about Lucca. However, Vivien, who had recently learned such a hard lesson in that particular field, had no intention of even allowing herself to consider the existence of any such allegations.
Within an hour of her arrival in London, she discovered that the label of furnished accommodation could hide a literal wealth of understatement, for her new home turned out to be a substantial dwelling in one of London’s most exclusive suburbs. A beautiful flower arrangement greeted her in the hallway of the elegant detached house. Each room was so well set up for immediate occupation that at any moment she expected the real owners to arrive and ask her what she was doing there. But it was her own books that sat on the shelves in the study, h
er clothes that had been stowed in the handsome master bedroom and Marco’s cot already awaited his arrival in the delightful nursery. Even the kitchen was well stocked with food. Having whined inconsolably for most of the journey, Jock scrambled out of the carrier box, his tail at a jaunty angle, and went trotting off to explore the secluded back garden.
The phone rang and, after a moment’s hesitation, Vivien answered it.
‘Give me a frank opinion,’ Lucca invited smoothly.
His rich, dark drawl sent a little frisson of wicked awareness dancing down her sensitive spine and she clutched the phone as tight as a talisman. ‘It’s a wonderful house…but a lot bigger and fancier than I was expecting.’
‘Staff have been organised to come in at discreet hours and take care of the necessities of life.’
‘That would be ridiculously extravagant. I’ll manage fine,’ Vivien assured him earnestly.
At the other end of the line, Lucca almost winced. He was recalling the disastrous period after their honeymoon when Vivien had contrived to persuade him that she was personally capable of running the whole domestic show. His once comfortable existence had been replaced by the hair-raising thrills and spills and deprivation of Vivien’s absent-minded brand of occasional housekeeping. The fire alarm had acted as an oven timer. The fridge had either been empty or filled with mummified food. The dry-cleaning had never been picked up. And sometimes, because she’d forgotten where she had left them, suits would vanish for all time. The most reliable way of acquiring a clean shirt had been the stack of new ones he kept at the office.
‘I’m afraid there isn’t a choice. The staff go with the house,’ Lucca informed her. ‘What time does Marco hit the bath?’
Vivien beamed. ‘Seven…’
‘I’ll be there, cara.’
Lucca tossed the phone aside and lounged back against his desk with a feeling of intense satisfaction. Marco was in London…Vivien too. The one could not be got without the other, he reasoned lazily. A slow, wicked smile played over his hard, sensual mouth. Everything was going his way and why should it not? He had been born devious for good reason and smooth, perfect planning always paid off.
Vivien had intended to change into something a little fancier before Lucca arrived. Indeed for what remained of the afternoon, while cheerfully engaged in rearranging the nursery to her own satisfaction and playing with Marco, she strove to work out which outfits in her wardrobe most flattered her. From that dismally small selection she then endeavoured to decide which would strike that all-important note of careless indifference to male presence. The very last thing she wanted to risk was giving Lucca cause to suspect that she might have made a special effort to look good for his benefit.
As it happened, she didn’t get the chance to change out of her casual low-slung black corduroy trousers and lilac tee shirt. An evening meal had been left prepared in the fridge for them but Marco disliked salads and he grizzled so much that Vivien ended up making him something else. Although the larder was well stocked, it did not carry any of Marco’s favourite foods. By the time that Vivien managed to serve up toast and a boiled egg with the consistency of a bullet, her son was in a very cranky mood. Seated in his high chair, Marco refused to be hurried and kept on tossing down pieces of toast to an appreciative Jock.
‘Don’t do that,’ Vivien urged for about the sixth time and struggled to be really firm. ‘You’re teaching Jock very bad manners,’ she added, thinking that perhaps it would help if she explained why such behaviour was unacceptable. ‘Marco, please hurry up and finish your egg…I want to get changed!’
Ignoring her, Marco waved his toast at Jock and the little dog danced round the high chair.
‘Please don’t do that…’ Vivien urged plaintively, glancing at her watch with a groan of frustration because Lucca was due to arrive at any minute and he was never late.
Marco bumped his hand on the edge of the tray and accidentally let go of his toast. Jock snatched this unexpectedly generous offering from mid-air and raced off with his booty. Marco let out a roar of disbelief. ‘Mine!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.
At breathtaking speed that minor event built into a major incident. Marco was tired and cross and in a new house and, instead of instantly rushing to replace his toast, his mother lifted him out of his high chair and tried to fob him off with a piece of hastily buttered bread. He threw the bread on the floor. Jock took that too. It was the ultimate insult. In a tempestuous rage, Marco flung himself down on the tiles and screamed and kicked.
Vivien flipped herself upside down and walked on her hands in a desperate attempt to distract her son. ‘Look at Mummy, Marco!’
Letting himself into the house with his key, Lucca had a glossy perfect image in his mind of what life might have been like had Vivien not destroyed their marriage. His dream family composed of a smiling, elegant wife and a smiling son would have rushed to greet him whenever he came home. What greeted him instead and banished all fantasy was a wall of awful noise, composed of a wildly barking dog and a child screeching at the top of his voice.
Lucca was unprepared for the less-than-cosy domestic scene awaiting him in the kitchen. Marco was throwing himself about the floor in a passionate tantrum. But what took Lucca most aback was the sight of Vivien frantically walking round their son on her hands like an acrobat while simultaneously begging the enraged toddler to stop screaming.
‘Marco…stop it!’ Lucca ordered with icy authority.
For an instant a shattering silence fell. In the very act of opening his mouth wide on another ear-splitting howl, Marco turned his head in astonishment to focus big brown eyes on his father. Jock, having dropped the bread in his mouth, was striving to sneak up on Lucca from the side and was within an ace of sinking his teeth into a trouser leg.
‘No, Jock!’ Lucca rapped out, and he proffered the definitive insult to a watchdog who prided himself on his ferocity and took no account whatsoever of his own diminutive size: Lucca just stepped over the little animal to go to Vivien’s aid. Shamed, Jock slunk beneath the kitchen table.
Vivien, the last to note Lucca’s unannounced arrival, was so startled by the sound of his commanding voice coming out of nowhere that she collided with a kitchen stool and lost her balance. Lucca snaked out a fast hand to prevent the stool from toppling on her and then helped her back up onto her bare feet.
‘Oh, my goodness, you’re early!’ Vivien accused with a dismay she could not hide, both hands initially engaged in smoothing down her rumpled fair hair but swiftly faltering as the full effect of Lucca, sheathed in a black pinstripe designer business suit, took her self-possession by storm.
He was drop-dead gorgeous. It wasn’t her fault that she was staring, she told herself helplessly. Staring was the norm in Lucca’s vicinity. He never failed to attract female attention. Pure energy buzzed in the air around him. His height and sleek, powerful build were combined with an extraordinarily sensual grace of movement. His bronzed skin was moulded over fabulous cheekbones, a strong masculine nose and an aggressive jaw line. The dark gold allure of his deep-set eyes set below level black brows made her heart bounce inside her chest like a rubber ball. He lived and breathed raw sexuality.
‘It’s after seven,’ Lucca imparted. ‘Was there a particular reason why you were walking on your hands?’ Her brows pleated in apparent surprise at the question. ‘Didn’t you realise why I was doing that?’
Lucca looked apologetic. ‘I must be very slow on the uptake.’
‘It’s simple and usually very effective,’ Vivien assured him with enthusiasm. ‘When Marco gets in a temper, I try to avert trouble by providing him with a distraction.’
‘You have a wonderfully innovative approach to discipline,’ Lucca remarked, his slumberous gaze narrowing below lush black lashes as he studied her.
The self-conscious colour in her cheeks only enhanced the brightness of her sea-green eyes. Her soft full lips were a rosy, pouting invitation to a male who had always loved her mouth. Standing v
ery straight, she was breathing rapidly from her recent acrobatic exertions, firm little breasts thrusting pointed nipples against a tee shirt worn thin from frequent washing. Instantaneous lust gripped Lucca. Suddenly he felt hot as hell. For a millisecond, he fought his own powerful response, for he had planned to play it cool for the first visit at least. But at shocking speed that recollection sank in favour of a keen desire to live for the moment and his lean hand rose almost of its own volition to curve to her waist, which lay bare below the hem of the shrunken tee shirt.
‘I don’t like to be confrontational with Marco…if that’s what you mean.’ The feverish tension weighting the atmosphere lent Vivien’s voice a slightly nervous squeak but the immediacy with which he had reached out to pull her closer ran like a quicksilver burst of energy through her veins.
‘You still talk at the worst possible moments,’ Lucca growled in husky reproof.
‘Whereas you don’t talk at all,’ she mumbled.
‘Open your mouth for me, gioia mia.’
The long, sure fingers spreading across her sleek midriff felt like a possessive brand and she trembled when his other hand eased into the shallow indentation of her back to press her into electrifying contact with his lean well-built frame. A shiver of excitement coursed through her tummy and a kernel of heat ignited. She looked up at him, green eyes luminous. He brought his marauding mouth down on hers, his tongue slashing a carnal path of desire across the sensitive interior of her mouth. Her body flamed into almost painful life, a breathy little sound of fervent response wrenched from low in her throat. Her knees shook under her and when he crushed her slight length to him with hungry masculine force, she clung.
‘Wow…triple wow,’ she framed unsteadily with shining eyes, wildly conscious of the bold masculine proof of his arousal against her hip, her breath coming shallow and fast.