‘That’s why they stay so slim.’
‘Don’t ever think you don’t have the perfect body, Lina,’ he said softly. ‘Because you do.’
It was like a rock being dropped into a still stretch of water—the relative calmness of the meal disrupted by the sudden violent splash of memory. Powerful and erotic memory. Silhouetted against the glittering backdrop of the city, Lina thought how unbelievably virile the tycoon looked in a shirt the colour of an oyster shell—the silky material emphasising his broad shoulders. It was weird to think they had been eating their meal so primly when just hours ago he had been deep inside her body. Yet his words were unexpected and they changed the atmosphere completely. His quiet praise made her feel almost confident. Was it that which made her ask the question she’d been longing to ask him all day?
‘Do you think you’ll ever go back to Sicily?’
His voice was repressive, his powerful body tense as he put his coffee cup down. ‘I doubt it.’
Lina pushed her dessert plate away. Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about Sicily—but they had to talk about something, didn’t they? Otherwise every time she ran across him she was going to feel increasingly agitated.
Focus on something other than the curve of his lips and the carved contours of his face, she told herself fiercely. Ask him something easy.
‘Where are your parents?’ she asked suddenly.
Almost imperceptibly, his knuckles tightened. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s a normal question. Nobody in the village knew anything about them. Apparently your godfather never talked about them, even when he was well. I was just thinking how proud they must have been of your success.’
Salvatore stilled. Funny how a guileless statement like that had the power to tug you back towards a darkness and a past he tried to keep out of bounds. ‘My parents never got to see it,’ he said coolly. ‘They were dead by then. They died a long time ago. Long enough for everyone to have forgotten about them.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘What happened to them?’
There was a pause and Salvatore felt a flicker of irritation. Didn’t she realise from his tone that he didn’t want to talk about it? That over the years he had built a high wall around his emotions? An impenetrable barrier, which discouraged investigation into his past—a concept easily accepted by a culture which was keen to live in the moment. But Lina Vitale was looking at him with such genuine compassion shining from her eyes that Salvatore felt some of his usual resolve melt away.
Was it because she was Sicilian and they were speaking quietly together in dialect that he found himself wanting to break the most fundamental of his self-imposed rules and talk to her on a level he never usually engaged in with other people? Or because she looked so damned lovely that he needed to distract himself from giving in to what he most wanted to do—which was to carry her off to his bedroom and ravish her over and over again, until she was shuddering out his name and biting her little white teeth into his bare skin?
And he wasn’t going to do that any more. He’d demonstrated quite enough powerlessness around her. He needed to claw back some of the control which had so disturbingly left him on the plane today.
But she was still looking at him and something about her soft gaze was making him want to spill it all out. And why not? It wasn’t as if he cared about what had happened in the past, was it? Not any more. He had schooled himself to ensure he didn’t really care much about anything, or anyone. A brief explanation might provide a welcome diversion from the rise and fall of her breath, which was making her luscious breasts move provocatively beneath her dress. And mightn’t talking about it prove to himself once and for all that the past no longer had the power to hurt him?
He swallowed the last of his wine and put the glass down. ‘My father was a fisherman, though not a particularly effective one,’ he began, arching her a questioning look. ‘You know what they say about fisherman’s luck?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘Getting wet and catching no fish,’ he explained, with a rare flash of black humour which made her smile. ‘As a consequence we had very little. We were among the poorest in one of the poorest villages on the island. The bottom of the heap, if you like. And it made my mother...discontented.’
She didn’t say anything. If she had, he might have clammed up. But as her silence washed over him with purifying calm, he found himself continuing.
‘A life of poverty wasn’t what she had signed up for. She was a beautiful woman who had always attracted the attention of men and that made my father jealous. Jealousy is an ugly trait,’ he added, his mouth twisting. ‘I could hear him shouting at her at night-time, when I was trying to sleep. He used to accuse her of flirting. Of wearing clothes which were too tight and lipstick which was too red. Sometimes their rows were so loud they used to wake up the neighbours and all the local dogs would start to bark. And she used to taunt him back. She told him he couldn’t even provide for his family. She said he wasn’t a real man.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Living with them was like watching a never-ending boxing match, with each one circling the other, waiting to make the killer blow. Like having a bomb ticking away in the corner of the room, just waiting to go off.’ It hadn’t felt like life, it had felt like existence—a claustrophobic prison from which he’d been unable to escape and which had soured his appetite for close relationships in the years which had followed.
‘Go on,’ she said, in a voice so soft it was barely audible.
He drew in a deep breath, surprised by the ease with which he was saying it, as if someone had sweetened a mouthful of poison and made it almost palatable. ‘One day, when my father was out on his boat, a travelling salesman came by the house—a slick stranger who seduced her with the promise of silk stockings and a better life. By the time I got home from school she had already packed her things and was getting ready to drive away in his fancy car.’
He was lost in the past now; he could feel it sucking him back into a great gaping vortex of darkness. His mother had crouched down and told him she would send for him just as soon as she was settled but something inside him had known she was lying. He would never forget the kiss-shaped mark of lipstick she’d left behind on his cheek, which he had scrubbed afterwards until his skin was red raw. Or the way the salesman had looked right through him, as if he were invisible—a tedious little obstacle which had been put in their path. His father had erupted with a heartbreak which had made the young Salvatore flinch with shame. Crying big savage sobs, he had thrown himself down on his knees in front of his straying wife, his shoulders shaking as he’d begged her not to go.
But she had. She and the salesman had driven away in a cloud of dust. And Salvatore had been left with his father’s grovelling display in front of the small crowd who had gathered there. Just as he’d been left with his own sense of confusion and outrage. In that moment he had recognised the humiliation that women could heap upon men, and how a man could let his obsession for a woman make him lose his mind. He had never forgotten either of those lessons. And he had been right about his mother’s lie, because she had never sent for him, despite the promise she had made. ‘My mother and her lover were killed in a car crash the following year,’ he added grimly. ‘And soon after that, my father was lost at sea.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘They called it an accident, but I never considered it one, for he lost the will to live after her desertion.’
‘Oh, Salvatore.’ Her voice trembled and he could hear the soft note of tenderness in her voice. ‘That’s...that’s awful.’
He shook his head and held up his palm. ‘Platitudes are not necessary, Lina,’ he said, hardening his heart to the way she was looking at him, as if she wanted to cradle him in her arms and take away all those bitter memories. And that was why he didn’t ever talk about it, he reminded himself grimly. He would not be seen as a victim. As someone to be saved, or pitie
d, or rescued. Because he’d managed to mastermind his own rescue and he’d done it all himself. ‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted your sympathy.’
There was a flicker of a pause. ‘Then why did you tell me?’
‘Maybe I just wanted to make it clear what has made me the man I am. To make you understand that I mean it when I say I don’t want any long-term emotional commitment. Perhaps now you can understand why.’
‘Because you don’t trust women?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Because I know my own limitations. I just don’t have the capacity to care, Lina—or the willingness to do so. I’ve always been that way and that’s the way I like it.’
He saw the clouding of her eyes just as his phone began to vibrate on the table and he snatched it up, glad of the interruption. He listened intently for a few moments before terminating the call and rising to his feet, his heart twisting with something inexplicable as he looked down into her big, dark eyes. ‘I need to deal with this call and then I’m going to turn in for the night,’ he said abruptly. ‘But stay as long as you like and ring for anything you need. Shirley can get you coffee—’
‘No. I mean, thank you, but no.’ With a fluid movement she rose from the table. ‘I’m tired too and I’d like to turn in.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’d show me the way? This place is so big I’m terrified of getting lost.’
The last thing he wanted was to escort her back in the seductive light of the moon. To imagine the bed which lay within the little cottage and think how good it would feel to sink down on it with her in his arms and to lose himself in her sweetness. The spiralling tension which had tightened his groin into an exquisite ache made him want to refuse her innocent request, but wouldn’t that imply that he couldn’t trust himself around her?
He stayed silent as they walked through the grounds, trying to concentrate on something other than the whisper of her skirt in the light breeze and the way it swayed over her curvy buttocks. But as she stopped in front of the door, with the scent of flowers heavy and potent in the night air, and the black curls streaming over her thrusting breasts, he felt a rush of desire so powerful that he almost succumbed to it.
It would have been so easy to take her into his arms and kiss her. Too easy. Despite everything he’d said on the plane, he was beginning to realise that resisting Lina Vitale might not be as simple as he’d thought. Would it hurt to retract his words? To override his original intentions and give into the most powerful sexual attraction which had ever come his way? Surely it was insane to deny them both what they wanted, when this kind of physical chemistry was so rare.
He swallowed. Maybe, at a later date—when he was certain she could accept his boundaries and his limitations. Because if—when—he had sex with her again, it would be at a time of his choosing. When he was certain Lina understood that he was the one in the driving seat. The one with all the control. He would make himself wait, because not only would it increase his hunger, it would prove he didn’t need her. Maybe the time would come when they could be friends with benefits, yes, but it could never be anything more. And in the meantime, he needed to ensure she had some kind of focus other than him.
He stopped outside her doorway and looked at the moonlight-dappled darkness of her hair. ‘One of my charitable foundations is giving a gala ball tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come along?’
‘You mean, as your guest?’
Deliberately, he downplayed it. ‘Why not? You’ll get a chance to meet some people. Contacts which may come in use, if you’re going to start looking for a job. You might actually find something to do with your life which is a little more exciting than sewing drapes and curtains. Isn’t that what you came here for?’
‘Yes, yes. Of course it is. It’s just that...’ She hesitated as she fingered the flared fabric of her dress before lifting her gaze to his. ‘I’ve never been to a ball before.’
‘I don’t imagine they’re a big feature of life in Caltarina,’ he said drily.
‘Which means I don’t have anything suitable to wear,’ she continued. ‘And there won’t be time for me to make anything suitable.’
‘No problem. I can buy you something.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant, Salvatore. I can’t possibly let you do that. You’ve already been more than generous.’
‘The subject isn’t up for debate’ he said coolly. ‘I can afford it and you can’t. You can add it to the list of things you say you’re going to pay back.’
‘I say it because I mean it!’ she clarified fiercely. ‘I’ll pay back every cent.’
He gave a slow smile, because in that moment she reminded him very much of himself. ‘Okay. Now go and get some sleep,’ he said softly. ‘It’s been a long day.’
He turned and walked away and Lina watched him, still trying to absorb everything that had happened. He’d told her about his childhood, which had made her heart bleed for him. Things which had made her want to wrap her arms around him and comfort him and try to take some of his pain away. She bit her lip. Her own mother might have been stupidly strict, but at least she’d been there for her. And Salvatore’s face had looked so stern as his story had unfolded, his troubled features shadowed by the flicker of candlelight. He had obviously intended to convince her that the past no longer had the power to affect him, but Lina had detected the faint dip of vulnerability in his voice. She had seen the ravaged expression which had darkened his face when he’d described his mother driving away in the salesman’s car. And she had died before they’d had an opportunity to resolve their broken relationship. Of course it must still hurt, no matter how hard he tried to deny it to himself. She suspected he’d buried it away so deeply that he’d never really allowed himself to grieve.
And his father had left him, too. So wrapped up in his own bitterness and heartache, he had neglected the little boy who must have been missing his mother—and, in so doing, had managed to destroy yet another area of trust.
Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her, leaning heavily against it and closing her eyes. Had she thought he might kiss her when he’d walked her to the moonlit cottage? Yes, she had. Of course she had. And even though she was starting to realise that she couldn’t just keep being available whenever he snapped his fingers, she couldn’t deny that she wanted him.
But she couldn’t afford to behave like a passive puppet around this undeniably sexy and charismatic man, because she had come to America to make something of herself.
Not to get her heart broken.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE KNOCK ON the cottage door sounded imperious and Lina felt a ripple of apprehension as she opened it to find Salvatore standing there, his muscular physique dominating the star-sprinkled sky behind him. And despite all her intentions to do otherwise, her heart began pounding frantically beneath the fancy fabric of her new dress.
It was a little under twenty-one hours since she’d last seen him. Twenty-one hours of trying to get to know some of the staff a bit better and asking Henry if there was anything she could do to help. Answer: no. In theory, twenty-one hours to build up some immunity against the charismatic tycoon. So why hadn’t it worked? All the stern talking-tos in the world didn’t seem to have changed her body’s instant response to him, which was as powerful as ever.
It was as if she’d been stumbling around in the dark for a long, long time and Salvatore had suddenly become her bright, hard focus. Whenever he was around her skin felt sensitive—her limbs weightless and her senses soft. It was as if the very substance of her was capable of dissolving whenever he was in the vicinity.
He flicked his gaze over her and Lina wondered if she’d imagined the brief flash of disbelief in his eyes. She doubted it. Hadn’t she experienced a similar reaction when she’d stood in front of the mirror a little earlier and surveyed the image reflected back at her? She shifted her weight on her stiletto heels because sh
e was doing everything she could to avoid getting a blister this evening. She wasn’t used to wearing an evening dress, nor shoes this high, and as she waited for Salvatore’s verdict on her appearance her already jangled nerves felt even more frazzled. It was exactly as she’d thought. She looked a disaster. She was going to let him down. She would turn him into a laughing stock. ‘You don’t like it?’ she said.
There was a pause as he continued to study her with an unhurried scrutiny which was making her nipples tighten.
‘You look different,’ he concluded eventually.
It wasn’t the reply she’d wanted but maybe it was the only one which was appropriate. Because she felt different. She felt... Lina shook her head, but not a single hair of her perfectly coiffed head moved, thanks to the careful ministrations of the in-store hairdresser. It was difficult to describe exactly how she felt. Disorientated might be a good place to start. She’d never been to an upmarket department store before, nor been assigned a personal shopper—but apparently this was perfectly normal when you possessed the platinum store card to which she’d been given unfettered access by Salvatore di Luca. But nothing could have prepared Lina for the lavish interior of the sumptuous San Franciscan store, nor the expensive outfits of her fellow customers, who glided over the marble floors as if they had been shopping there all their lives. Never had she felt quite so poor or provincial.
Her relief at being given guidance by the personal shopper was tempered by the realisation of how many of the dresses—which all looked remarkably similar—she was expected to try on.
After countless hours she ended up with a simple floor-length robe in cobalt-blue—which wasn’t her usual style or colour, but which she was assured made her look stunning. The shopper had arranged for a make-up artist to apply unfamiliar cosmetics to Lina’s face and, in the brand-new and restrictive underwear which was containing her curves beneath the dress, she felt like a sausage about to burst out of its skin. She was dressed up like a painted doll in an expensive dress so narrowly cut that she had to take ridiculously tiny steps in order to walk.
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