He winced, but refused to give her the pleasure of seeing how accurate her second guess was. ‘Perhaps it’s a bad idea. I wasn’t intending it to be a re-run of what happened upstairs. I simply thought we might both enjoy some company. But if it’s too much for you…’ He saw her hesitate, the doubt in her eyes, then the reluctant decision that he might be right.
‘Very well,’ she answered quietly, ‘but I’d still like some hot milk. How about you?’
On top of whisky! But if it helped keep her at his side…‘I’d like that, shall I—?’
‘Come and help? No thanks! I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
He watched her walk along the corridor, her behind swaying seductively with each step that she took. She walked like a model, every inch of her alerting his senses to such a degree that he began to question the perverseness that had made him invite her into his sanctum. He wouldn’t be able to touch her, he knew that, there was a mile-wide gap between them that would be difficult, if not impossible, to bridge. Not in a few minutes, or even hours. Days, weeks maybe, but he wasn’t that patient.
To him it was simple. They resumed marital relations and the rest would follow. It was Megan who was making progress difficult, finding problems when there were none. He would never understand her.
In the five minutes it took her to heat milk and make their drinks he’d decided that they needed to have a real heart to heart. It was the only way they would be able to solve their problems. And probably now, in the middle of the night, was the very best time. No Charlotte to interrupt, no phone calls, nothing except the two of them—together.
Hunger for her crept through every one of his strong male veins. How he was going to sit there, knowing that she was as naked as the day she was born beneath her enchanting white nightie, laced from waist to throat with a Christmas-red ribbon, and do nothing about it he didn’t know. It would be the worst form of torture.
She returned with their drinks on a tray, together with a plate of home-made biscuits which he knew would choke him if he attempted to eat one. What he wanted to do was suck one of Megan’s nipples into his mouth. She always tasted so beautiful and reacted so wantonly. He wanted to suck and bite and tease until she was putty in his hands. He wanted to feel her softly scented body close to him, he wanted to mould her with his palms, feel every curve and contour; he wanted to touch her most intimate places, feel her moistness, make her as ready for him as he was for her.
But he knew he couldn’t.
She was out of bounds.
For the moment!
But soon…
Megan nibbled on a biscuit, sitting in the armchair opposite him where he couldn’t possibly touch her, but he could look…It was warm in the room. He had stoked up the fire and it burned brightly in the grate. Her purple dressing gown was undone, the ribbon on her nightdress beckoning his fingers to untie the bow and unlace it. Lord, he wanted to look at her—she was his wife, after all. Instead she was covered up as primly as a nun.
He picked up his mug of malted milk and cradled it in his palms. It was absolutely no compensation for her temptingly full breasts. He felt compelled to close his eyes so that he needn’t look at her.
‘Are you tired now? Shall I go?’
Her question had his lids jerking open. ‘Not at all. I was simply thinking.’
‘About what? Us?’
He shrugged. ‘Does it matter when you’re determined that—?’
‘I’m not determined about anything,’ she forestalled him.
‘I don’t see any sign of you wishing to kiss and make up.’
‘That’s because a lot of water’s gone under the bridge. Before we kiss we talk. We have to resolve our differences. It’s the only way.’
‘I’m trying.’
Megan raised her beautifully shaped brows. ‘You could have fooled me.’
Something red shot in front of his eyes and he was ready to blast. It was only with an extreme effort that he managed to exercise caution and say calmly, ‘Perhaps you’re not really looking. You have it so firmly fixed in your mind that I’m the baddie in all of this that you’re missing the improvements.’
‘Spell them out to me.’
He didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t the answer. ‘If you can’t see them then perhaps I’m wasting my time.’
‘I have noticed,’ she said with slow consideration, ‘that you don’t spend quite so much time at work. But I assumed it was because of the Christmas holidays. It doesn’t really prove anything.’
His breath whistled thinly through his teeth. ‘Did I ever take time off at Christmas?’ He couldn’t help the sharpness of his tone.
‘The first year we were married you did. We had a wonderful Christmas together.’ Her eyes lit up as she spoke and he saw a glimpse of the girl he had first met. The girl who had ensnared him in an invisible net that could never be broken. ‘But after that,’ she went on, ‘you only took Christmas Day off. Even then you were a grouch.’
That was because his mind was always connected to whatever money-spinning idea he was working on. Looking back, he could see that perhaps he had been a little unfair on Megan—but not as much as she was making out. ‘So surely you can see,’ he pointed out, his tone strong and firm, ‘that I’m doing my level best to spend more time with you.’
‘And how long will it last?’ she asked caustically.
‘With your co-operation, if you don’t constantly raise your hackles whenever I’m around, for ever.’ He saw the way her brows rose ever so slightly, the disbelief in her perfectly shaped grey eyes. ‘I’m serious. I want this to work, Megan. You are my whole life. Without you it has no meaning.’
Disbelief gave way to surprise, her eyes widening as they remained steadily on his. ‘You’ve never said anything like that before.’
‘I didn’t feel I had to. I thought you knew.’
‘I know nothing unless you tell me,’ she insisted.
Not that he loved her? How could that be? He didn’t find it easy to say the words, but surely she knew? Why else would he want her back? He took a long, slow drink from his mug, watching her over the rim as he did so. He could prove to her in bed exactly how much he loved her—if she would only let him. Dared he suggest it?
He didn’t think so.
She was just as likely to slap him across the face. But even that contact would be better than the distance that separated them. It felt like a mile instead of a couple of feet.
Megan sipped her milk too, avoiding his eyes, staring absently into the flickering flames of the fire. She looked so beautiful sitting there, the glow from the coals warming her face, softening the shadows. He could imagine her in just such a position breast-feeding her baby. He had missed that! He had missed everything to do with Charlotte’s birth and her first important years. He hadn’t seen her learn to walk or talk, her first teeth coming through, her first word—which might have been ‘Daddy’ if he’d been there! Instead she’d never known what it was like to have a father.
Bitterness crept in and he began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea to invite Megan to sit with him. He didn’t want a confrontation, but that was exactly how he felt. So much he had missed! And it was all her fault! He clattered his mug down on the table.
Megan followed suit. ‘I’m feeling sleepy now,’ she said, although he knew she was lying.
‘I think I might go to bed too,’ he declared. This wasn’t how he had wanted it to end but it looked as though he had no choice.
‘I’ll leave you to make sure the fire’s safe. Goodnight, Luigi.’
‘Goodnight, Megan.’
So formal! No kiss, no touch, no sign that they meant anything to each other, and yet he would stake everything he owned that her body craved his just as much as his did hers.
Perhaps he should kiss her, a gentle peck on the forehead, nothing more, just enough to let her know that he cared. But already it was too late; she had left the room and he could hear her running lightly up the stairs.<
br />
When he followed later his footsteps were much slower and heavier.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN Megan woke the day was bright and sunny—and Charlotte’s room was empty! It took her a second or two to remember that there was now a nanny to attend to her daughter’s needs. It didn’t please her. She enjoyed cuddling her sleepy-headed daughter first thing in the morning, feeling the heat of her skin, ruffling her already tousled hair. It was a mother-child thing and she didn’t like the experience being taken from her.
Something else that she hated Luigi for!
She showered and dressed in a red sweater and black ski pants and went downstairs to find her daughter. Instead she found Luigi—in the breakfast room, his empty plate in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. ‘Good morning.’ He gave her a smile that sent an electric tingle down her spine.
Careful, she warned, don’t fall into his trap. He was expert at seducing her senses. She had felt it last night; she had wanted to stay with him in his den and let him make love to her in front of the fire. So much she had wanted it. His needs had been her needs. She hadn’t lived with him without being able to tell when he desired her. And, despite all the harsh things that she’d said to him, she had wanted him too.
But it wasn’t in her plan of things. Before anything like that happened again she needed to be convinced that he’d reformed. Not only fewer hours at work but he needed to love his daughter in the way a child needed to be loved. Armfuls of presents were not the answer. She was still determined to take most of them back to the store, the ones he’d given her as well. She couldn’t be bought; she wasn’t a piece of baggage.
‘What’s going through that mind of yours? That frown’s enough to frighten away the fiercest predator.’ There was lazy amusement in his voice and it was good to see him looking so relaxed. Usually at this time of the morning he was eating a piece of toast while he fixed his tie—either that or he had already left. Perhaps he was turning over a new leaf.
‘It is? Then I guess you’re the predator as you’re the only person in the room.’
‘And you’re my prey?’ He looked pleased at the thought.
‘I think not. Is the coffee still hot?’ She was aware of his eyes on her breasts where they pushed against the thin wool of her sweater. His examination made them go taut with expectation, her nipples peaking, and the rest of her body filling with tingling warmth.
‘Amy’s going to bring you in some tea.’
‘That’s good of her.’ She sat down quickly. This immediate reaction was unexpected. She even felt slightly breathless. It was madness. How could she keep up her campaign, feeling as she did?
‘What would you like to eat?’ Luigi pushed himself easily up from the table and strode to the heated tray on the sideboard, lifting lids on the silver dishes. ‘Bacon? Sausage? Tomatoes? Mushrooms? Eggs? Some of each?’
He wore grey worsted trousers that fitted snugly over his hips, and a yellow cashmere sweater. It was a colour she’d never seen him in before. It suited his dark complexion. As she watched him peering into each dish in turn it occurred to her that she was studying him in exactly the same way as he had looked at her earlier, and she turned her head away. ‘Toast and marmalade will be fine, thank you,’ she announced primly.
‘You’re going to let this good food go to waste? Is that really all you want?’
‘You know I never eat much in the morning. On the other hand, perhaps you don’t. You were always in too much of a hurry to sit and have breakfast with me.’ Her tone was deliberately sharp. It annoyed her that he was still able to arouse her without doing anything.
‘I imagine that happens in most working families,’ he said. ‘But all that’s changed. You no longer work. I don’t have to go in so early. There’s no reason in the world why we shouldn’t sit and have breakfast together every morning.’ He was back in his chair, pushing the toast rack and marmalade and butter dishes closer towards her.
‘Pardon me,’ she said, ‘but I haven’t given up my job yet. I’m still on Christmas leave.’
A brow rose. ‘I forgot to tell you; I rang your firm and told them that you wouldn’t be going back.’
‘What?’ Megan’s eyes flashed outrage. He’d gone over her head again. ‘You had no right. In any case, how did you know where I worked?’
‘I made it my business to find out.’ He didn’t look in the least apologetic.
‘Jenny told you—or Jake. Was it him?’ She’d kill him when she next saw him.
‘Does it matter who?’
It mattered to her. Very much! Where was her friends’ sense of loyalty? She was trapped now, whether she wanted to be or not. She’d agreed to a few days. Now, without an income, she’d have to spend for ever with Luigi—or as long as it took for her to find another job and somewhere else to live! And the longer they stayed here the more settled Charlotte would become, and the harder it would be to move!
‘I hate you, Luigi Costanzo.’
He smiled. ‘You look beautiful when you’re all fired up.’
At that moment Amy came in with a pot of freshly brewed tea, and the girl beamed when she heard Luigi tell Megan that she was beautiful. There was a skip to her step as she walked out.
‘I think Amy approves of you,’ he said, still with that aggravating smile.
‘I don’t care what she thinks,’ Megan riposted. ‘You had no right to do that. You’re trying to make me your prisoner and I’m not.’
‘Of course not, you’re my wife,’ he shot back at once. ‘My very beautiful wife,’ he added on a low growl. ‘Red suits you; you should wear it more often. It makes your face come alive.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ she retorted coldly, her spine stiffening. She didn’t want to be reminded of last night, when she had been uncomfortably aware of them both in their night clothes. It had brought back memories of the early weeks of their marriage when sometimes, at weekends, they hadn’t bothered to get dressed at all.
Luigi used to say that he liked it when she was ready for him at any time, without the hindrance of top clothes with their buttons and zips and hooks. And she had to admit that she’d found it exciting too.
She poured herself a cup of tea, nibbled on a triangle of toast, and for once wished that he’d leave her and go to work. Contrarily, he showed no sign of moving. In fact, he gave the impression that he’d be happy sitting here all day.
‘It’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow,’ he reminded her.
Megan nodded. It was just another day as far as she was concerned. Another day in purgatory! Well, not quite, but that was how she preferred to think about it. She couldn’t imagine living the rest of her life like this. If things were different between them, if he loved her, really loved her, and if he loved Charlotte the same way as she did, then perhaps there’d be hope. But not as things stood.
‘I’m having a little get together.’
Megan frowned. ‘You are?’ She couldn’t imagine Luigi celebrating New Year, not in his own home. Someone else’s party, maybe, if it didn’t interfere too much with his work. He’d probably network anyway. But a party here? There had to be some ulterior motive. ‘Why?’
‘It’s time I brought this house alive. You’ve taught me that, Megan. Your reference to a mausoleum made me think. I’m going to open my doors to everyone I know.’
‘Everyone? You said a little get together.’
‘Perhaps not so little,’ he agreed with a dangerous smile that revealed even white teeth.
He had beautiful teeth but they reminded her at that moment of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. Predatory! Here was the word again. ‘So who are you inviting?’
‘Business associates, colleagues, friends, neighbours. Anyone who cares to come.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘It’s certainly that. Who’s organising it?’
‘Various people. Edwina and William are arranging everyth
ing here. Serena’s seeing to the invitations—’
‘Serena!’ Megan slapped her toast down and glared at him. ‘Why Serena? It should be my job.’ She wished that she’d thrown the bread in his face; he deserved it. He was an out and out swine. Serena this, Serena that; she was always ingratiating herself into his favour. And how was she to know that he didn’t share his PA’s bed sometimes as well?
‘Of course, my darling, but you know hardly anyone here yet. Next year you can write the list.’
‘I doubt I’ll be here next year,’ she gritted through clenched teeth.
She wasn’t looking at him but she heard his chair scrape back on the wooden floor and the next second he had hauled her to her feet and his big, strong hands were gripping her upper arms. ‘You will be here,’ he threatened. ‘Haven’t I made myself clear? I’m not letting you go again.’
‘You won’t be able to stop me,’ she retorted. ‘I won’t have you flaunting Serena in my face. If you don’t get rid of her, I go.’
Luigi’s eyes narrowed damningly. ‘You know I can’t do that. She practically runs my business affairs for me.’
‘That’s no reason why she should run your private life as well. Unless she is part of that too! Is she?’ She looked directly into his eyes and they didn’t flicker.
‘Megan, you are the only woman for me. You must believe that.’
She wanted to, but there were so many things that filled her with doubt and, just when she was beginning to learn to trust him, along came something else to threaten her tenuous hold. ‘So you keep saying. I have little proof of it so far.’
His brows met, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. ‘That’s because you won’t let me in.’
‘With just cause. As you’ve this very second proved.’
‘Serena is no threat to you.’
‘She wants to be.’
‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘But she’s very well aware that you’re now back in my life, a total part of it, and that there’s no place for her. You have nothing to fear where she is concerned.’
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