The Italian's Perfect Lover (13 page)

Emily’s hair was piled high and her shoulders
were completely bare: no covering scarf, no jacket, nothing but a
tracery of white scars, highlighted against her tanned skin. The
wounds were vicious: some wide, some jagged, some puckered, but all
discolored in the evening light, yellowed by the oncoming
storm.

At that moment she’d stopped her slow
progress along the poolside and looked up. Their eyes met: hers
fiery and angry, full of a defensive fury that he didn’t
understand.

She took a sip from her glass of wine and
then turned away.

Alessandro beckoned to one of his
assistants.

Within minutes he’d returned with Emily in
tow.

She walked up to him, her defensive anger
almost palpable.

“I’ve been summoned, it would seem.”

Alessandro gritted his teeth in an effort to
control his anger.

“Emily, allow me to introduce the patrons of
the Museo Archeologico Nazionale.”

He slipped his arm around her, his hands
gently relaxed on her scarred shoulders.

“Gentleman, this is Emily Carlyle, my close
friend and archaelogist for the estate.”

Alessandro barely heard them exchange
pleasantries. He had eyes only for Emily. If she was angry, he was
now more so, except he was better at hiding it.

“Emily, the gentlemen would like to hear
about your finds at the estate. Perhaps you could enlighten
them?”

He could hear the chill in his voice and he
could see that she registered it.

“Of course.”

She turned her back slightly on Alessandro,
allowing him to see the full extent of her injuries. It angered him
even further. How could anyone do such a thing?

Then the face of his wife’s lover slammed
into his mind—bloody and terrified. His wife and her lover had
threatened to take his child away with them and blind anger had
seized him when he had taken hold of the lover. He couldn’t
remember being stopped. He could only remember the blood.

His hand fell from her shoulders.

She’d never seen him so cold or so angry
before. Not that she knew him well, she reminded herself. But she’d
trusted him implicitly, guided by his actions, his touch, his
words. She’d trusted her own instincts. But seeing his rage
simmering beneath that cool façade, had she been wrong?

She gave the minimum of information of the
dig to the patrons. She was suspicious of their interest, of this
meeting, and now of Alessandro’s motives.

As soon as she’d finished Alessandro excused
themselves, took her firmly by the hand and pulled her across the
room, towards his personal suite.

She yanked her hand back but he continued to
hold it. People milled around them, interested glances shot their
way, but the drinks and music and laughter continued to surge like
waves around them.

“I think there’s little point in going
anywhere more private.”

“Fine. Just tell me what the hell you think
you’re doing?”

So he was embarrassed after all. It had all
been a show.

“I don’t see what gives you the right to be
so damned angry. It wasn’t you that was stared at and whispered
about as you walked through the room.” She jutted her chin up in
defiance. “You didn’t have to acknowledge me as your ‘close
friend’.”

His absolute look of exasperation and anger
filled his face and he turned away, his face black.

He’d thrust his hands back in his pockets and
his face was grim with self-control. “You’re trying to prove some
sort of point?”

“I thought it time to show you what I’m
really like. I’m not perfect.”

“Really?” Sarcasm dripped from the word. He
held her stare before her gaze dropped in defeat. “Tell me cara,
who is?”

He turned and looked around the room angrily
as if trying to restrain his temper.

“You for one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. For all your
intelligence you’re acting like a child.”

“If it’s childish to show you what I’m really
like, then I guess I am.”

“And what are you like?”

“I’m not for you.” Her voice had dropped to a
whisper, the mixed emotions refusing to give it power.

“I think that’s up to me to decide. We are
lovers—”

She pulled her head up sharply, interrupting
him. “And you regret it, of course.”

He tugged at her hand, his anger barely
restrained. “How could I regret feeling you orgasm as you slowly
slipped over me for the first time? How can I regret the intensity
in your eyes when you look at me, silently, when our bodies blend
together as one?”

Heat flushed through her, her mouth went dry
as she felt her insides clench and moisten at the memory. She
looked around, suddenly aware of conversations being hushed nearby
as people strained to hear.

“OK, let’s go somewhere more quiet.”

“No. You chose this. See it out.” His grip on
her arm tightened. “How could I regret holding your body, tasting
your breasts? I want you now.”

“Alessandro. You’re hurting me.”

It was as if he’d been slapped and the anger
left his face. He dropped her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“I invited you. There were people I wanted
you to see. Work I wanted you to do.”

“That’s it. Work?”

“And, I wanted to see you again—somewhere
more social, somewhere other than the estate. It seems this was a
mistake. It seems that it’s you who regret our relationship.
Strange. I didn’t seem so repugnant to you when we lay naked
together.”

She shook her head. “What are you talking
about?”

“It seems that you think this little
performance will turn me off you. There can be only one reason for
that. As I say you obviously regret it.”

She shook her head, unable to contradict him,
unable to tell the truth.

“I’ve come to show you what I really am. I
couldn’t last night. But I have no place in your life—short or long
term—and I wanted to show you why.”

“Why?”

She grabbed hold of his hand and forced him
to touch her shoulder.

“
I
, am damaged goods. I thought that
much is clear.”

“
You
, need your head examining, in
that much you are correct. If you think a few scars would upset me,
then you have no idea who I am or anything about me.”

“You are rich, aristocratic and beautiful. I
am none of these things.”

“So, I should have nothing to do with you
then?”

“Why would you want to?”

He pulled her tight against her and she could
feel his arousal. “I want you now, as much as I did last night,
more even. It’s you that yearns for a superficial perfection, not
me. I want a real body.” He ran his hands over her hips and held
them there.

She looked around, suddenly embarrassed.

“Move your hands, people are looking.”

He pulled her round a corner, out of sight of
the others. “Like this?” He moved one hand down and caressed her
bottom, curving round and then under before resting there.

She pushed away his hands but he was angry
now.

“You think me so shallow, Emily. It is you
who’s the snob with your pre-conceived notions about what I should
and shouldn’t want. You have no idea. No thought for anything other
than yourself.”

“I—”

But her words were cut off by a kiss, more
savage than he’d ever given her. The heat and power seared her
mouth. She couldn’t help responding, her whole body wanted him. Too
soon his lips pulled away, his forehead leaning against hers. Their
panting breaths mingled for long seconds before he re-took her
hand, pulled away and stepped towards the nearest door, pulling her
after him.

Blindly she followed, down a long corridor,
stumbling after him, nothing real except for the urgent needs of
their bodies. It was only when the door slammed behind them that
she realized they’d entered his private suite.

She fell back against the door, his body
pressed tight against her so that she could feel every taut muscle,
every part of his hard body, straining, needing her. It gave her a
sense of power she exulted in as she met his tongue with her own
with an urgency felt in every part of her body. Desperate to feel
his skin against hers, she pushed her hands under his shirt and
skimmed his bunched muscles before descending and slipping her
hands beneath his trousers. She could feel the effect of her hands
as he groaned into her mouth.

He pulled away from her then and, with one
swift movement, pulled down the strapless dress so that it lay in
folds around her waist, her breasts spilling out over the soft
cloth and into his waiting hands. With his thumb and forefinger he
rubbed her nipples until she was aching with need; with his tongue
he invaded her open mouth and with his leg he shifted his weight
between hers, urging her to open them.

She didn’t need any urging. She needed him
quite as much as he wanted her and with a flick of a button and a
careful easing of a zip, she found what she wanted.

With a frustrated grunt he pulled up her
dress, until it lay in one ruched layer around her stomach and
pulled down her panties. Impatiently she pulled down his trousers
and he picked her up in one swift movement.

Wrapping her legs around his body, she arched
her back to try to get close to him. Hampered by his trousers, he
cursed and stamped out of them. With one swift thrust he pinned
against the wall. For one long, ecstatic moment she thought she
would faint from the exquisite sensations that coursed through her
body. She came with his second thrust. The door rattled with each
penetration, banging against the door jamb, as relentless as it was
rhythmic. There was no accommodation for her orgasm, no waiting, no
caresses, no time for seduction this time. Only the sound of the
thudding of the door gaining in momentum, stirring her body once
more until the coils of sensation joined in with his rhythm and she
cried out as they climaxed in unison: his seed pumping deep within
her.

She slumped against him then, spent. Her head
rested on his shoulder as they both waited for their frenetic
breathing to subside and for reality to slowly re-assert itself.
Everything had been in that moment, within themselves; there had
been no room in their consciousness for anything external. But
slowly, the ticking of a clock, the far-off laughter and shouts of
the party-goers and the buzzing of a fly as it angrily battered
itself, time after time, at the window, slowly these sounds
penetrated both of them, bringing them back to reality.

His grip on her thighs relaxed and allowed
her legs to slide in his grasp until she stood trembling before
him. Still they had not looked each other in the eye. Her forehead
was buried in his chest, lost between his warm skin and his
disheveled shirt whose buttons lay on the floor where he or she—she
didn’t know who—must have ripped it open. It was only when she
pulled away that she noticed the smears of mascara on his white
shirt. Shakily, she wiped her eyes with her fingers.

“You’re crying.” His fingers traced the same
arc as hers had just wiped.

She shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, Emily.”

Then she looked up in to his eyes but he
avoided her gaze and looked away. As if to emphasize the distance
that was falling between them, she felt his hands release their
grip, slowly, very slowly and drop to his sides.

“Alessandro?”

Her eyes still seeking his, she wriggled back
into her dress, covering her confusion as to the sudden distance by
concentrating on covering her nakedness.

“Alessandro?” Her voice was stronger now. He
had to be made to see.

He pulled up her top more securely, his hands
hesitated on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her then and she wished he
hadn’t. His eyes were bleak with despair. She shook her head. All
her previous anger had disappeared. “No.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. You’re wrong. It wasn’t just you. I
wanted it.”

But he’d walked away, across to the window
where the sickly light of the setting sun now entered the room.

“You wanted it? I don’t think you know what
you want. Do you?”

She made a step towards him and then stopped
because she didn’t know how to reply.

She could feel the tears now as they tracked
down her face.

“I wanted you then. Before? I still wanted
you but I needed to show you that I’m not meant for you. Not meant
for your world.”

“And you think you’re the better judge of
that than me.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“And you’d go to such public lengths to save
me from myself.”

She nodded again.

“Perhaps you’re right, Emily. If you suppose
me to be so shallow, so superficial, then perhaps we shouldn’t be
together.”

Her heart was breaking as he tenderly traced
the line of her face, her cheekbone and her jaw before stopping at
the neck.

“But, Emily, what you don’t understand is
that I knew. I knew from the first evening we met. I saw your scars
and they meant nothing to me except that I wanted to make sure you
never felt such pain again.”

She shook her head. The tears now
unstoppable.

“I didn’t know. I thought you’d be
disgusted.”

He closed his eyes. “You have a very low
opinion of me.” He walked away and crossed his arms. “But the worst
of it is, that you’re right. You bring out the worst in me. I’ve
never taken a woman with so little finesse, against the wall. Dio!”
He looked around disgusted. “I don’t behave like that.” He spoke
between gritted teeth. “I lose control when I’m with you. You break
it down.”

She tried to touch his shoulder.
“Alessandro.” He shook her hand off. “Listen to me. I wanted you as
much as you wanted me. Come,” she tried to encircle his body with
her arms, “let’s make love again. Properly this time.” She reached
up to kiss him but his eyes remained open, cool.