The Italian's Perfect Lover (16 page)

She felt his grip tighten. “Where were your
parents? Your family? The people who should have protected
you.”

“I had none. They died. None of the remaining
family could help so I was fostered out. First to one family and
then to another. I was too old; too clever; too smart-tongued; and
in a couple of cases, too able to look after myself.”

“But your ability to look after yourself
failed with Marcus?”

“Yes. Because he said he loved me.”

“That wasn’t so much.”

She swept her arm across the water, spilling
it onto the floor and turned to face him.

“You have no idea. How would you? Spoilt, as
you’ve been, by an extended family from day one.” She looked
around. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’ve had enough.”
She stood up and stepped out of the bath.

He pulled her to him before she could move,
pressing her soaking body to his and wrapping her in a huge, soft
towel. She tensed for only one moment before she leant into him,
absorbing his healing strength.

“I’m sorry, cara. You’re right. I have no
idea. But I can guess. I can guess that you were a very lonely,
clever child, isolated by your brains and your strong-willed
nature, vulnerable to the first person who professed love.”

She breathed him in deep, gaining courage and
hope from his understanding. “It was good at first. He helped me in
my studies, told me how to climb the academic ladder. But then, I
guess I took off. I did well. I got a tenured position and he
didn’t. I started to get a life that wasn’t within his control. I
didn’t see it like that, then, of course. But others have helped me
to try to heal the hurt.”

“And have they succeeded?”

“I thought they had, before tonight. But
somehow I doubt that it will ever go away now.”

“It’s a part of you, of who you are. Accept
it. But, cara, you’re not that young girl any more. You’ve moved
on, except you’ve taken with you that experience. You can’t not. No
matter what people say. People’s experiences change them forever.
But they carry on growing, they don’t stand still.”

“Sounds as if you’re speaking from personal
experience.”

He pulled the towel around her and turned
away.

“Come. You must be hungry.” His voice was
suddenly gruff. But then he turned and smiled, pulling her along
with him. “Food, Emily. The stuff you like, remember?”

She smiled for the first time. “I remember
all the stuff I like.” But her flirtatious words were tempered by
the fear and pain of her experience; they came out more softly than
she’d intended. She could see their effect in his eyes. The flicker
of heat she’d intended to ignite was there, but also a tenderness
she hadn’t seen before. He simply looked down into her eyes, lifted
her face to his and swept his lips gently, so gently, across hers
before pulling her close to him. His arms held her in an embrace
that, despite the strength of his arms, was more supportive than
demanding. She lay her cheek against his chest, feeling and hearing
his heart beat in her body.

Slowly, she sank more firmly against him and
felt his arms tighten in response.

Slowly, she turned her face and breathed in
his body and felt her own body quicken in response.

Slowly, his fingers spread round her back and
down and she felt his heartbeat quicken. She lifted her head to his
and saw eyes that were darker than before, wanting more this
time.

Their lips met again in a kiss, still tender
but deeper: a long, languorous kiss that confirmed the new
connection she felt between them. She pulled away breathless. “And
I’m hoping for a delectable dessert.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ever hear of dessert
first?”

“My favorite kind.”

As their lips met again, the towel dropped
from around her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to
the bedroom where he placed her on the large white bed before
standing back and looking at her. She stretched one arm out to
him.

“Alessandro. Come. I want you.”

“Cara. You will have me. But not yet. I want
to make you come with everything in my power. I want to feel you,
to taste you.”

She couldn’t have argued any further even if
she wanted to. And she didn’t.

She was in up to her neck.

Emily lay in bed watching the patterns of the
sun reflecting off the swimming pool ripple and swirl on the
bedroom ceiling. She felt weak, helpless. Gritting her teeth, she
started to rise out of bed but sat back on the bed quickly.

Months had passed since the storm and along
with it their need to stay at the villa. They could live where they
wanted: alone or together. And they’d been together all that time,
unable to get enough of each other. But always they’d been
protected—apart from that once.

She swallowed in an effort to contain the
queasy feeling that threatened to rise. No. Please no. She closed
her eyes in disbelief as the thought that had been niggling at the
back of her mind took shape once more.

She rose more slowly this time and walked to
the bathroom and locked the door. Peering into the mirror, she
thought she looked paler than usual. She’d been working hard since
the road opened a month ago and her nights hadn’t been exactly
without activity. But she’d been the happiest she’d ever been.
There was no reason for her pallor. Her face twisted as a wave of
nausea overtook her.

She emerged from the bathroom shakily and
looked down at Alessandro’s sleeping face. She still couldn’t
believe he was her lover. She went to touch his face, but her
finger hovered as it traced the lines of his brow, his jaw, his
mouth, then she dropped her hand.

What if she were pregnant? How would a child
fit into the here and now?

She closed her eyes. She knew. But she needed
to know for sure.

Her gaze was drawn once more to the light
that was seeping into the east. She needed to get to a pharmacy
fast.

She quickly showered, dressed and slipped
quietly out of the villa, picking up Alessandro’s car keys as she
went. There was no-one around. Everything was quiet. The bay was
ruffled with a brisk breeze. She felt like one of the little
fishing boats, bobbing in the choppy waves, pulled by invisible
currents, at the mercy of forces far beyond her control.

Up to her neck? No. She was drowning, not
just in love, but in a sense of inevitability as to her fate. She
knew
she was pregnant even without the test. She could feel
the change in her body and in her emotions. She was adrift and
helpless, shut out from a future with Alessandro by the secrets
that he held close. Whatever happened one thing was sure: she’d
never let her child down, would always give her, or him, the love
and care that had been denied her.

But before she made any plans, she had to be
sure.

“And where have you been, Signorina
Carlyle?”

She jumped, feeling absurdly guilty.

His voice was gruff, angry even. He was
standing looking out at the sea sipping an espresso.

“Just into the city. I needed to get some
things.”

“And in my Porsche.”

“Yeh,” she said breezily. “Cool car.”

He gave an irritated sigh and walked back to
the breakfast table, indicating she should join him.

“You have a problem with me leaving without
permission?”

If he could be shirty, so could she. Had
sleeping with him meant she had to check in with him first before
she went anywhere?

She turned to him with the intention of
giving him one of her glares. The early morning sun bounced off his
curls and the unbuttoned shirt revealed his tanned chest with its
darkly curling hair. He looked at her, over a cup of espresso,
through narrow, dangerously sexy eyes. Her stomach flipped again,
her irritation forgotten.

“I do. Come here.”

His voice was still low but it was undeniably
an order.

She raised her eyebrow and he countered the
slight show of resistance by a barely perceptible shift of the
head, both teasing and challenging.

She smiled and walked over to him.

“You called, my count?”

He pulled her down on to his lap. “What has
happened? You look very happy.”

She felt her smile slip slightly. She’d
forgotten how perceptive he was. “And why shouldn’t I be?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have every reason
to be happy, of course, after making love with me last night.”

“Of course. Enough to make any woman happy.”
Her grin broadened at his arrogance.

“And hungry?”

“What do you think?” She closed her eyes as
his hands cupped her bottom and shifted her more intimately onto
him.

“I think if you wriggle like that on my lap
much more, breakfast will have to wait.”

“Really?” She eyed him directly and wriggled
provocatively once more.

He pulled her head down and kissed her
deeply, his hands pushing up inside her shirt and expertly flicking
open her bra.

His lips claimed hers once more and his
fingernails dragged lightly around the fullness of her breasts
until they reached their target.

She gasped and pressed her lips to his head
so he wouldn’t see her vulnerability as his mouth found her nipples
and kissed, nipped and pulled until she couldn’t take it any
more.

Her breathing came hard and her hands
caressed his head, his back, drinking in his freshly-showered
smell, remembering the taste of his skin on her lips. She wriggled
even more intimately, wanting nothing between them. She pushed her
hands inside his shirt, reveling in the heat of his body and the
friction of his hair against her finger tips, before she slipped
one hand down into his trousers and felt the tip of his
arousal.

He pulled away and looked into her eyes
sternly.

“Tell me. How are you feeling now?”

“I want you. Now.”

“And that, my lady, is how I felt an hour
ago.”

“That is
so
not fair.”

“Who said I played fair? Come. Get
dressed.”

“No.” Her hands descended once more to his
jeans. “I want you.”

“And you shall have me. Later.” He picked her
up and put her to one side, regardless of her semi-naked state.
“And I suggest you get dressed properly before the staff arrive to
clear the table.”

She flushed red and pulled her bra down and
slowly did up her buttons.

“Where are you going?”

“To work.” He walked up to her and kissed her
gently on the mouth.

“It’s Sunday,” she pouted. She hadn’t known
she could pout.

“Which makes it a perfect day for a site
visit, without people showing me what they think I should be
shown.”

“You know what they say—all work makes—”

“And that is why I will have the car come for
you at lunch time.”

She crossed her arms. “I might just be
busy.”

He smiled and pulled her to him and gave her
a long, lingering kiss. “Not too busy to play I think.”

Her pulse rate had increased and her arousal
would be betrayed if she spoke. She simply nodded.

“Umm, I thought so.”

Suddenly the thought of him leaving filled
her with fear: fear of the known, of the future without him.

“Don’t go yet. Stay. Just a little
longer.”

He smiled, the smile of a man satisfied that
he had the undivided lust of his woman.

“You want me to have you here and now?”

“And that would be bad because?”

“Have you no self control woman?”

“Rich, coming from the man who lives in the
present—taking what he wants, devouring it, spitting it out and
then moving on.” She hadn’t meant to be so plain spoken but the
truth always seemed to have a habit of tripping off her tongue too
easily.

He visibly blanched. “Is that how you see
me?”

“That’s how you describe yourself.” She
shrugged.

“You’re correct, of course. And, it is
something you should not forget.”

How could she?

She had one more week of waiting before she
knew for sure. She didn’t want to see a doctor yet. She wanted the
anonymity of a test—even if it was still inconclusive. It looked
likely that she was pregnant, but not definite. The months she’d
hoped for with Alessandro could possibly be only weeks.

She nodded, unable to disguise her pain so
easily now.

She watched as he walked away. It was all she
could do to hold herself back, not follow him to touch him once
more. He turned at the door and smiled the lazy smile that drove
her mad.

“And bring your bikini.”

Her smile dropped. “I don’t swim.”

“Who said anything about swimming?” He turned
and walked out of the door.

She moved slowly to the window and watched
his Porsche roar into life and disappear out of sight in a cloud of
dust. She continued to watch as that same dust settled, re-forming
over the tyre tracks, their imprint now muted.

Naples was teeming with people enjoying its
sunshine, food and exuberance. It was a day for flirtation with
people of all ages thronging the streets, the bay, the restaurants.
As the car slipped slowly through the busy streets she caught
glimpses of other people’s lives through the air-conditioned
windows.

She watched transfixed as a beautiful young
girl—surely no older than 16—sashayed past a group of older boys up
to her equally young boyfriend. She watched as they kissed. She
watched as they turned to leave the café. She watched as the girl
turned back coyly, flirtatiously, to the group of young men and
smiled at their lusty remarks before following the young man who
held her tightly by the hand.

A young couple with children sat exhausted,
pale in the bright light as their children played in the sand: the
woman talking incessantly, the man yawning. When suddenly he looked
at her and smiled, whispered unknown words and kissed her
passionately on the mouth, only to be slapped playfully away; the
woman no longer looking care-worn, but a young girl once more.