‘Eat first. We can talk later.’
He handed her the cutlery and her gaze slowly crept up to meet his. ‘I just wanted to thank you for earlier. You’ve been so kind and I’ve been a bit of an ungrateful cow towards you.’
Rafe brushed back another stray strand of hair off her face, tucking it behind the neat creamy shell of her ear. ‘This isn’t an easy time for either of us. You more than me. But I’m confident we can make this work. We have to. We have a child in common and he or she has to be the priority going forward.’
Isla’s frown crept back between her eyebrows and she began to pick at the food. ‘Have you ever changed your mind once it’s made up?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Not often.’
She gave him the side eye. ‘Were you this stubborn as a child?’
‘Always. I drove my mother nuts.’
‘I can well believe it.’ She picked up a plump juicy strawberry from the fruit plate on the tray and bit into it with her small white teeth.
Rafe wanted to suck the juice off her luscious lips right then and there and had to freeze every muscle in his body to stop from doing it. Desire rippled through him in waves, heating his flesh, hardening him to stone.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Isla asked, wiping her fingers on the linen napkin.
‘How am I looking at you?’
A faint blush crept into her cheeks and she swept her tongue across her lips. ‘You know how.’
Rafe picked up a strawberry from the plate and held it close to her mouth. ‘I like watching you eat.’ He liked watching her, full stop. She could be watching paint dry and he would still find it fascinating to observe her.
She took a small bite of the strawberry, chewed, swallowed and licked her lips. ‘Doesn’t it make you hungry?’
He kept his gaze locked on hers. ‘Ravenous.’
A glimmer of mischief sparked in her gaze and she took the half-eaten strawberry from his hand and held it against his mouth. ‘Why don’t you have a bite?’
There was something deeply erotic about placing his lips where hers had been just moments earlier. He bit into the soft flesh and the sweet flavour burst in his mouth. ‘Mmm... Delicious.’
She picked up another strawberry but, before she could bring it to his mouth, he took her wrist in a gentle but firm hold. He didn’t want strawberries. He wanted her. The strawberry dropped out of her hand with a soft little thump that sounded loud in the silence. The tip of her tongue came out to lick her lips and her pupils flared as his head came down so his mouth could meet hers.
The sweetness of the strawberry had nothing on the sweetness of Isla’s mouth. Rafe lost himself in the softness of her lips, the playful dance of her tongue as it met the entry of his. The fire of lust licked along his flesh like tongues of flame, his blood surging south with the force of a nuclear missile. His hands went around her, drawing her closer so he could deepen the kiss even further. The meal tray rattled between them and he released her and lifted his mouth off hers with a muttered curse. He removed the tray from across her lap and set it back on the bedside table.
He came back to take her face in both his hands, desire thrumming through him like rapid drum beats. ‘Now, where was I?’ he asked with a smile.
Isla placed her hands on his wrists, pulling them down from her face, a shadow passing through her gaze. ‘Is this going to be like last time? You holding back just to prove a point?’
Rafe frowned and gathered her hands in his in a gentle hold. Her comment was a timely reminder that he was moving too fast. His willpower had its limits and tempting it beyond its endurance was not such a great idea until their relationship was on more secure footing. ‘It’s not going to be like last time because we’re not doing this until you’re wearing my engagement ring. I’ve organised for us to select one tomorrow.’ No way was he introducing her to his nonna without a ring on her finger.
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Isn’t that a little old-fashioned of you all of a sudden? What happened to the man who took me back to his hotel room and got me naked in under an hour?’
Forty-two minutes. And during each one of them Rafe’s body had been humming and thrumming with lust. The moment he’d laid eyes on her he’d wanted her. It had never happened that way with another woman before. Sure, he’d had plenty of casual encounters in his time, but he couldn’t remember one that had captivated him from the very moment their gazes met. Engaging in conversation with her had only reinforced his determination to have her. And knowing she had felt exactly the same way had made it one of the most exciting encounters of his life. The most exciting.
‘Patience, cara. We have the rest of our lives together.’
Isla pulled her hands out of his hold and folded them across her chest, glowering at him. ‘You’re so confident I’m going to fall in with your plans. But I have a mind of my own, Rafe. I told you before—I will not be bullied into marriage. Marriage is for people who love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together.’
Rafe rose from the bed and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He figured it was better to put them there than reach for her and show how love was not necessary when it came to the chemistry they shared. ‘The romantic love you’re talking about is largely a fantasy. It doesn’t last. So many supposedly madly-in-love couples end up divorcing after a couple of years together. We have a much better chance of making it work because we’re starting with realistic expectations and the right motivation to do the best thing for our child.’
‘What has made you so cynical about love? Did some woman in your past break your heart?’
Rafe gave a short laugh at the thought of himself falling in love. He hadn’t even come close. He hadn’t allowed himself to. Loving someone blinded you and left you vulnerable. He had loved his father and look how that had turned out. The father he had loved and modelled himself on had been nothing but a lying, cheating fraud. There was no way he ever wanted to feel that level of disappointment and devastation again. ‘No. I’ve never been in love. I’ve just seen what being in love looks like and what it does to people when it ends.’
Isla uncrossed her arms and rested her hands on the swell of her belly, a frown still etched on her forehead. ‘But surely for a percentage of people it doesn’t end. It lasts for a lifetime.’
‘Maybe, but there are no guarantees.’ He took his hands out of his pockets and moved to collect the tray from the bedside table. ‘Are you done with this?’
‘Yes. I’ve had enough.’
Rafe picked up the tray and turned to look at her again. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m completely without feeling, Isla. I care about you and the baby. You do know that, sì?’
Her eyes flicked away from his. ‘I’m not asking you to fall in love with me.’
‘Are you not?’
Her gaze met his but it was as if there was a screen up. ‘Men like you don’t fall in love with women like me. Not outside fairy tales, that is.’
‘Now who’s sounding cynical?’ Rafe said, softening it with a smile. ‘Is there anything else I can get you? Another juice or tea or—’
‘I’m fine. Please don’t fuss. I’m not ill—just pregnant.’ Her tone had an edge of irritation that made him wonder if it was masking hurt. But he didn’t feel comfortable making promises he couldn’t deliver on. Love was a no-go zone for him and he had good reasons for it. It was an emotion he didn’t trust.
Could never trust again.
* * *
Once Rafe left the bedroom Isla lay back against the pillows with a heavy sigh. She wasn’t sure why she kept pushing him on the subject of love. It would be a disaster if she fell in love with him. An unmitigated disaster, because her background would make it all but impossible for him to love her back. Rafe was a proud and intensely private man. The disclosure of her lurid past would destroy any hope of a future toget
her. How could anyone in their right mind, herself included, think she was good enough for someone like Rafe? Like him, she had never fallen in love before, but a secret part of her dreamed of doing so. To be in a relationship with her partner, who openly expressed the same love she felt for him.
But how could she allow herself to hope Rafe would be that partner?
But the more he talked about marriage and bringing up their baby together, the more tempting it became. She didn’t relish being a single parent. Her mother had struggled to cope with the demands of a small child, especially once Isla’s father had left. Their marriage had only come about because of her mother’s pregnancy with her and it had been a mistake from the get-go. Her father had been an immature man-child himself, no way ready to take on the responsibilities of parenthood. When the marriage folded, Isla’s mother had dropped into a cycle of self-medication with prescription drugs and alcohol. Isla had far too many distressing memories of gnawing hunger while her mother slept off yet another hangover. Shivering with cold when there wasn’t enough money to pay the heating bills. Shouts and slaps and sarcastic put-downs when her mother had run out of her drug or drink of choice, blaming Isla for the train wreck of her life. Then, after her mother’s death and her father’s subsequent rejection, Isla had spent her childhood being passed around foster homes, never belonging, never fitting in, never feeling loved.
A marriage between her and Rafe might not have any of the financial hardship of her parents’ marriage but it would still be a duty-bound contract, not a love-bound one.
Could she risk it for the sake of their child?
* * *
The following day Rafe took Isla to a jewellery designer he knew in Palermo, where the designer escorted them to a private room and brought out an array of exquisite rings for her inspection. Isla knew she should have put her foot down earlier that morning about Rafe’s insistence on buying a ring but somehow found herself going along with his plans. Perhaps wearing his ring would stop his housekeeper from eyeing her with undisguised distaste. Besides, they were due to visit his grandmother that afternoon and she knew it would be easier to meet the old lady wearing Rafe’s ring than without.
The designer left them alone with a selection of rings and Isla’s gaze homed in on a simple mosaic setting, the tiny individual facets glittering brilliantly as each caught the light. It wasn’t the biggest ring in the selection and it was set along more traditional lines but she loved it on sight.
‘May I have this one?’ Isla pointed to it.
‘This one?’ Rafe lifted it out of its velvet home and took her left hand. ‘Let’s see if it fits.’ It slid over her finger as if it had been made specially for her. He smiled. ‘It suits you.’
Isla tilted her hand this way and that to watch the diamonds glinting. ‘It’s beautiful...’ She glanced up at him and added, ‘I hope it’s not too frightfully expensive. There aren’t any price tags and—’
‘It’s not a problem.’
Isla immediately felt gauche for mentioning price tags. Of course, Rafe didn’t have to worry about price tags. He could afford any ring in the store—every ring when it came to that. She waited to one side while he paid for the ring on his credit card and then, once he was done, he came to take her hand and led her out of the shop.
‘Thank you,’ Isla said. ‘It’s a gorgeous ring.’
‘I’ve ordered a wedding ring to match. Pablo is going to work on it straight away.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to bother ordering a wedding ring but something stopped her. Would it be a mistake to marry him? He was the father of her child and would love and provide for it and not shirk parental responsibility like her father had done. Marriage to Rafe would offer her and the baby the sort of financial security she could only dream of. Money wasn’t everything, and it certainly wasn’t the best motivation for marrying someone, but to never have to worry about providing for her child was a big inducement, one she found increasingly hard to resist.
‘I’m thinking a small wedding with just close friends and immediate family,’ Rafe said on the way back to the car. ‘I have a dress designer in mind but if you have someone you’d rather use then feel free.’
‘I don’t have any family to speak of,’ Isla said. ‘And I would only want Layla and a couple of other friends as bridesmaids.’ She waited a beat and added, ‘How soon are you thinking?’
He glanced at the swell of her abdomen. ‘Two weeks.’
Her eyes rounded to the size of dishes. Satellite dishes. ‘Are you crazy? No one can organise a wedding that quickly.’
A glint appeared in his hazel gaze. ‘Watch me.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER A LIGHT lunch at a café they had dined in previously, Rafe drove the seventy-odd kilometres to the historic coastal town of Marsala in western Sicily, made famous for its fortified wine and ancient ruins. Isla hadn’t visited it when she was involved with Rafe a few months ago but had read about the Stagnone Nature Reserve with its salt pans and migratory birds.
Lucia Bavetta’s small but beautiful villa was situated not far from the main square of Marsala. A demure housekeeper in her late sixties called Maria opened the door, exchanged a few words with Rafe, smiled briefly at Isla before leading them inside and then melted away like a shadow. Rafe put his arm around Isla’s waist and led her to where the old lady was waiting in grand style in the salon.
The well-preserved old-world furnishings gave the room a time capsule atmosphere that made Isla feel distinctly out of place. There were some concessions to modernity—the old lady was sitting in a recliner chair, surrounded by books and newspapers, a tablet and television remote control and a phone set, giving the impression she spent most of her time residing there. There was a walking frame parked nearby and the room had clear pathways between the furniture for ease of passage. There was an elderly tortoiseshell cat curled up asleep on a nearby sofa. It was so still that at first Isla thought it was a taxidermy model, but then it opened one slitted golden eye, made a croaky miaow and then went back to sleep.
Lucia’s black button eyes coolly assessed Isla’s abdomen even before Rafe could make the introductions. ‘So, you have brought your latest mistress to meet me.’
‘Isla is not my mistress, Nonna. She is my fiancée.’ Rafe’s tone was firm, his arm around Isla’s waist protective.
The old lady raised her chin, her dentures clacking in disapproval. ‘When is the wedding? Sooner rather than later, one would hope.’
‘Saturday fortnight,’ Rafe said. ‘I’d like you to be there.’
Lucia grunted noncommittally and waved an imperious hand towards the sofa opposite her chair. ‘Sit. But mind Taddeo there. It’s straining my neck looking up at you both.’
Once they had sat side by side on the sofa next to the sleeping cat, the old lady turned her attention to Isla. ‘My grandson tells me you’re an artist. Are you any good?’
‘Erm...I’m not sure I’m the right person to answer that,’ Isla said, gently stroking the elderly cat, which set off a round of audible purring.
‘She’s very good,’ Rafe said, holding Isla’s hand against his muscle-packed thigh. ‘I’ve asked her to paint your portrait in time for your ninetieth birthday. She would need you to do a few sittings for her.’
Lucia made a self-deprecating noise. ‘That’s all I do, day in and day out—sit. My legs won’t do what I want them to do any more. I fall over even when there’s nothing to fall over.’
‘It must be very frustrating for you,’ Isla said.
Lucia glanced at Taddeo, who had now rolled onto his side so Isla could stroke his belly. Her gaze came back to Isla’s. ‘How many sittings would you need?’
‘Two or three to start with,’ Isla said. ‘I can take photos to work from as well, but I like spending time with the subject of a portrait. It’s when I observe their mannerisms or micro-expression
s that define their character.’
The old lady folded her hands in her lap as if she had come to a decision. ‘When would you like to start?’
Isla didn’t like to say she had already started. From the moment she’d walked in she’d been taking in the details of the old lady’s personality. Lucia Bavetta presented as a starchy and critical old-school woman who didn’t suffer fools gladly, and yet Isla could see traces of the much softer girl and young woman she had once been before the vicissitudes of life had toughened her up. ‘I could take some preliminary photos with my phone today and then make a time to come back for a more formal sitting.’
The old lady’s bird-like eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you have a wedding to plan?’
‘Erm...it’s not going to be a big affair—’ Isla began.
‘I’ve got it in hand,’ Rafe said. ‘Working on your portrait will be a nice distraction for Isla. Won’t it, cara?’
Isla smiled a weak smile. ‘A distraction right now would be good.’
* * *
They ended up staying longer than Rafe expected but his nonna insisted on serving refreshments that her housekeeper and long-time companion, Maria, had prepared. But, given he had a surprise in store for Isla that was being prepared back at the villa while they were out, it suited him to dawdle a little over coffee and cake.
Once they’d said their farewells, Rafe led Isla back out to his car. ‘That went well, I thought. She likes you.’
Isla swung her gaze to him in surprise. ‘You think so?’
‘You liked her cat and it liked you. You’re in, as far as Nonna is concerned. “Love me, love my arthritic flea-bitten cat” is her credo.’
She gave a visible shudder and rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms. ‘Does it have fleas?’
He laughed and gently brushed his bent knuckles against her cheek. ‘Only teasing. There isn’t a flea in the world who’d have the courage to enter Nonna’s villa, much less reside on her precious cat’s body.’
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