Once they were back at his hotel penthouse bedroom, Rafe took Isla in his arms and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘You were the belle of the ball tonight.’
She linked her arms around his neck, her eyes as luminous as twin moonlit lakes. ‘You don’t do too badly in the handsome stakes yourself.’ She moved against him, her pelvis setting fire to his. ‘But it’s time you took off that posh suit.’
Rafe raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Hey—I thought you were tired?’
She pressed herself even closer so he could feel every delicious curve of her body along every hard ridge of his. Her naughty girl smile sent a lightning strike of lust to his groin. ‘Not that tired.’ She stood on tiptoe and planted a series of kisses on his mouth. It was all he could do not to pull up her dress and take her against the wall.
He cupped her bottom in his hands, the smooth satin of her dress sliding against her curves with a sexy swish. ‘You should be resting. I kept you on the dance floor way too long.’
Isla whipped off his bow-tie and tossed it to the floor, her eyes sparkling as bright as the diamonds and sapphires around her neck. ‘Then you can take me to bed. Now. But you have to undress me first.’
‘No problem.’ Rafe tugged her dress down to reveal her breasts, the proud and ripe curves with their pregnancy darkened nipples sending every drop of his blood south. He pulled the dress further down and it fell to the floor at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her high heels, her jewels and a tiny lace thong. He cupped her breasts in his hands, feasting on their soft white creaminess against his olive-toned skin. ‘You take my breath away every time I look at you.’ His voice came out raspy and his need burned like fire in his groin.
She began to unbutton his shirt but she only got to button number three when Rafe took over the job himself. He hauled the shirt over his head and threw it aside, desperate to feel her hands on him. She was already on to it, her busy little fingers sliding down his zip and finding him. He shuddered at her touch, the play of her hand up and down his shaft driving him crazy with need.
He pulled her hand away, breathing heavily, searching for his self-control but finding it had gone into hiding. ‘Let’s slow down a bit—’
‘Let’s not.’ Her mouth slammed into his, her tongue snaking between his lips and shooting fire into his mouth and into his blood. His pulse hammered, his heart raced, his lust roared.
One of his hands grasped her by the hip, the other dispensed with the tiny scrap of lace that was barely covering the secret heart of her. He caressed her hot wet centre with his fingers, teasing her into gasping cries of pleasure. He hitched one of her legs up so he could drive into her to experience the contractions of her orgasm around him, triggering his own powerful release. He gave a deep groan and lost himself in the star-exploding storm that shook and shuddered and shimmied through every inch of his body.
Isla ran her hands down his arms with a feather-light touch. ‘That’s more like the Rafe I know.’
Rafe was still trying to catch his breath. ‘What do you mean?’
She circled one of his flat nipples with a teasing finger. ‘Since I’ve been back, you’ve been making love to me as if I’m made of glass.’ The edge of her mouth came up in a coy half-smile. ‘I like it both ways.’
A shiver coursed over Rafe’s body. No one could turn him on like her. A sultry glance from beneath those fan-like lashes, a flash of that knock-you-out-cold smile, the sexy scrape of her fingernails along his arm. Everything she did made molten heat flash along the network of his veins, sending his blood pumping, thumping, jumping in excitement.
He took her by the hips again and brought his mouth to just above hers. ‘Let’s see what I can do about that.’
* * *
Isla woke the next morning from a deep and restful sleep to find herself alone in the bed. Nothing unusual in that, for Rafe was an early riser—such an early riser he put most larks to shame. She pushed her hair away from her face and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, smiling when she felt tiny twinges in her inner core. Making love with Rafe had been the perfect way to finish the night of the ball. His compliments had made her glow with pleasure, his touch sending her into raptures time and time again.
She had made a bargain with herself last night to stop fretting about those wretched photos. Her worries about a public exposure of her past might never be realised and it was crazy to put herself under such stress over something she had no control over anyway. Rafe had told her to put it out of her mind—that it was not an issue for him. This time next week they would be man and wife. She had to focus on the future they had, together with their child. A future that might not be as perfect as she had dreamed of, but it would be secure and stable and she, of all people, knew there was a lot to be said for secure and stable.
Isla had a shower and, with her towel still wrapped on her head, came out of the bathroom to see Rafe standing by the bed with a newspaper folded up in his hand. His expression was inscrutable but there was a brooding energy that came off him in waves.
A shiver ran down Isla’s spine like a small sticky-footed creature. ‘You were up early.’ She tried to disguise her worry by leaning to one side and rubbing the towel against her wet hair. ‘Did you get some of those gorgeous fresh croissants from the bakery like the last time we were here?’
‘Isla.’ The note of gravitas in his voice chilled her blood. ‘I want you to promise me something.’
She gulped and didn’t try disguising it. She couldn’t. ‘Wh-what?’
‘Promise me you won’t look at the papers or anything online until this blows over. Okay?’
A cold hand clutched her heart and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed until she could only get enough breath to whisper, ‘This?’ Her eyes went to the folded newspaper under his arm. ‘Oh, God...the photos?’ The frozen hand around her heart suddenly let go and the trapped blood gushed and hammered so hard she thought her chest would explode.
A flash of pain went across his face and his eyes looked haunted. ‘You have to let me deal with it, cara. Trust me. I will deal with it and you will never suffer this humiliation again. Understood?’ The steely determination in his tone was as reassuring as if he had those dreadful negatives burning to smithereens in front of her right then and there.
If ever there was a man worthier of a white stallion and a suit of armour, Isla would like to see him. Rafe’s promise to protect her, to keep her from harm no matter what, was as wonderful as if he had said I love you. Didn’t that prove how much he cared for her? Why was she worrying about three little words that anyone could say but not always back up with actions?
‘You’d do that? For me?’ Her voice was just shy of breaking.
He threw the newspaper into the wastepaper bin and came to her and pulled her close against his chest. ‘I’m sorry this has happened but we’ll ride it out. Don’t speak to the press, no matter what. It will only add fuel to the fire.’
Isla looked up at him with tears stinging her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He kissed her forehead. ‘You’re not the one who should be apologising. I will not rest until I see justice served. You have my word on that.’
* * *
It took every ounce of willpower for Isla to walk past that wastepaper bin without pulling the newspaper out. It took willpower to turn her phone’s Wi-Fi off so she couldn’t look at anything online. It took even more willpower and fortitude to travel to the airport with Rafe and try and ignore the horde of press waiting for them wherever they went. But no amount of willpower could allow her to unhear the salacious questions fired at her like a rapid round of artillery. Each question hit her like a slap. She could feel her face on fire, shame raining down on her, weighing her down so she could barely walk in a straight line, her body hunched against the onslaught.
Rafe kept his arm around her, shepherding her through the knot of paparazzi to the waiting car. ‘Don’
t respond. I’m with you. You have nothing to be ashamed of, cara. They are the ones who should be ashamed, not you.’
Rafe was so calm and controlled and yet she sensed he was simmering with an anger so intense she couldn’t help pitying the person who’d posted the photos. She had given him all the details she could remember of the man who ran the club and Rafe had already set the legal wheels in motion.
A Sicilian’s fierce pride was a potent thing and it thrilled her that Rafe cared enough about her that he would fight for justice no matter what it cost. For the first time, Isla thought that maybe there was a chance they could ride this out. Rafe was by her side and supporting her. Didn’t that count for something? If it didn’t matter to him, then why should it matter to her?
Once they were safely in the car, a mantle of peace settled over her. She no longer had to face this alone. He was with her every step of the way.
Rafe reached for her hand and drew it up to his mouth, kissing her bent knuckles. ‘Together we will get through this, mio piccolo. I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. You’re safe with me.’
Safe. That was something Isla had never felt before now. ‘You have no idea how much that means to me.’ Her voice was soft with gratitude, her heart so full with love for him she was surprised he couldn’t see it. So what if he didn’t love her? She had enough love for both of them.
And maybe in time he would come to love her, as she was sure he would love their child.
They arrived back in Mondello, but they were barely in the door of the villa when Concetta came towards them with a worried look on her face. ‘Signor, you must hurry. Signora Bavetta has just been taken to hospital.’
Isla’s heart sank. His nonna was ill?
Rafe dropped the bag he was carrying on the floor with a thud, his features tight with tension. ‘Why didn’t someone call me before now?’
‘The call only just came in from her housekeeper, Maria,’ Concetta said. ‘They have taken her to the private hospital in Palermo where she went the last time she had a fall.’
‘Did she fall again?’ Rafe asked, rattling his car keys in impatience.
‘No,’ Concetta said, glancing briefly at Isla. ‘She was reading something on her tablet and she suddenly collapsed.’
Ice-cold dread pooled in Isla’s stomach. Had Rafe’s grandmother seen the scandal of her past in the press? Was his nonna’s illness her fault? She looked at Rafe, her hand clutching her chest where her heart was thumping so jerkily she worried she might faint. Her past was never going to go away. It was always going to be a sticking point, if not for Rafe, then for his family and friends and business colleagues.
‘Stay here, cara,’ Rafe said, touching her lightly on the arm. ‘You need to rest. I’ll call you when I find out how she is.’
Isla grabbed at his wrist, tears already welling in her eyes. ‘Why can’t I come with you? I want to support you—’
The grim shadow in his eyes was only there for a moment before he blinked it away, but it was there long enough for Isla to know she had no place by his side. Not with him at his grandmother’s bedside, given it was her scandal that had caused his nonna to collapse.
‘No, Isla. You must stay here and rest.’ His tone brooked no resistance. ‘There isn’t anything you can do right now.’
Yes, there is. Isla’s heart plummeted. I should have done it well before now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ISLA PACKED A few things in an overnight bag and booked an online fare back to London rather than Edinburgh. She needed some time to herself before going back to Scotland to sort out the train wreck of her life. If Rafe found her before she had time to think about her future, she might be tempted to stay with him. But how could she stay, knowing it was her mess that had caused his grandmother to become ill?
Her past was not going to go away, no matter how much she wanted it to. No matter how much money Rafe spent on expensive lawyers. No matter how much he tried to reassure her. It was an ugly stain on a white sheet, an indelible stain that spread and spread until now it was tainting others. Hurting others. Hurting Rafe—the man she loved more than anyone in the world.
Rafe, whom she loved more than her own happiness.
Isla called a cab and waited in the foyer for it to arrive. Concetta appeared from behind one of the marble pillars with a frown on her weathered features.
‘You are leaving? Again?’ The housekeeper’s voice contained a thread of worry. ‘But you must not. The signor will be—’
‘I’m sorry, Concetta, but I must go,’ Isla said, fighting to hold her emotions in check. ‘Surely you can see that? I don’t belong in his life. You’ve always thought that. Deny it if you like, but we both know I’ll only bring more trouble into his life.’
‘I admit I didn’t like you at first,’ Concetta said. ‘But that was because I didn’t think you were being honest with him. I see now you are good for Signor Angeliri. You make him smile. You make him relax. He doesn’t work such long hours when you are here. You cannot just leave him. The wedding is next Saturday.’
‘There isn’t going to be a wedding,’ Isla said. ‘I should never have said I would marry him.’
‘You make promises and then you don’t keep them.’ Concetta’s black button gaze was scathing. ‘It is better not to make a promise in the first place so you don’t get people’s hopes up.’
Isla steepled her hands around her mouth and nose and let out a deep breath. So, it wasn’t only Rafe and his grandmother she had hurt but his housekeeper too. She lowered her hands from her face and met the housekeeper’s critical gaze. ‘I haven’t had much time yet to work on your daughter’s portrait. But when it’s finished I’ll send it to you, I promise. And Rafe’s grandmother’s portrait too.’
‘Pah!’ Concetta’s tone was as scathing as her gaze. ‘If she lives to see it.’
The front door opened and Rafe stepped inside with a frown carved deep between his brows. ‘What’s going on? Why is there a cab waiting outside?’
‘Your fiancée—’ Concetta spat the word out like a lemon pip ‘—is leaving.’
Rafe’s expression became as unreadable as a MI5 spy. ‘Please excuse us, Concetta,’ he addressed the housekeeper in a cool and formal tone. ‘Isla. The salon. Now.’
He went to take her by the elbow to lead her in the direction of the salon but she stepped out of his reach.
‘How is your grandmother? Is she...?’ Isla couldn’t go any further as dread and shame washed through her in sickening waves.
‘She suffered a mild stroke but nothing to worry about. The geriatrician has put her on some blood-thinning medication. She’ll be home in a day or two.’ His voice remained calm on the surface but there was an undertone of tension. ‘But it’s you I’m worried about. What’s going on? Has Concetta upset you?’
Isla picked up her tote bag from the chair near the hall table and hung it over her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe, but I have to go. This isn’t going to work. I was stupid to think it ever would and I—’
‘What’s brought this about?’ The tension in his voice went up another notch.
‘It’s me, Rafe,’ Isla said. ‘Me. You. Us. It can never work. I will only bring shame and disgrace to you and your family.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose—the first sign of a crack in his steely composure. He blew out a breath and locked his gaze on hers. ‘I told you I’d handle the photo situation. I’ve got my people working on it as we speak. You have to trust me to deal with—’
‘And what happens in the meantime?’ Isla said, her throat tight and throbbing. ‘Stand by and watch your grandmother have another stroke when she sees more of those awful photos splashed everywhere? I can’t allow that to happen. I can’t do it to her or to you.’
A flicker of something passed over his face—a tiny flinch of a muscle near the hinge of his jaw, a blink that lasted a little too
long, as if he were mentally closing a blind on a distressing scene. ‘Nonna would have had a mini-stroke regardless. The doctor said—’
‘So, you’re not denying that she saw the photos on her tablet and it caused her to get upset enough to—’
‘Isla, it’s not your fault.’ The heavy chord in his tone told her the opposite. It confirmed everything she believed about herself.
‘How can it not be my fault?’ Isla asked. ‘Next it will be your business taking a hit. Deals being cancelled because of me. The children’s charity dumping you as chairman. I won’t allow it to happen. I won’t do that to you.’
‘So, what you’re doing now is okay, is it?’ His top lip curled and his eyes flashed with sparks of anger. ‘Running away again. Leaving because things got a little awkward. That’s not how you handle stress that comes into your life, Isla. You have to face it head-on and deal with it.’
Isla raised her chin, determined not to be talked out of going. ‘I am dealing with it my way.’
‘Your way?’ He gave a scornful laugh. ‘Your way is childish and immature. You’re having a child yourself. My child. You can’t just run away when things don’t work out the way you hoped.’
‘I’m not running away. I’m removing myself from a situation that will hurt both of us and our child in the long run.’ Isla was proud of the evenness of her tone, which belied the storm of emotion building in her chest.
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