He was twelve, not two. The exact nature of his father’s business enterprises was suddenly crystal clear. And Carlo, who had been raised with a total reverence for black and white morality, had wanted no part of that life. He’d packed his bag, and left the home without a backwards glance.
But in his dreams, he had one last conversation with his father.
Why, papa?
For you, Carlo.
But I don’t want this. It’s wrong.
Wrong is a matter of opinion.
It was Carlo’s worst nightmare. He took comfort in the inflexibility of true morality. It was one of the reasons he’d known he had to marry Jane. She was good and pure and sweet and innocent, and he could not have been with her without honouring her properly. To imagine wrong being a matter of opinion was anathema to him.
He woke with a start, and sat upright in his bed.
A sliver of silver moonlight punctuated the darkness of the room, shining a rectangle of light across the foot of his bed. He reached out and ran his fingers through it, trying to catch the magic of the night in his hands.
It shone and glittered, like stardust on a wave. Or blonde hair.
With a muffled groan, he looked across at the empty pillow beside him. Jane’s pillow.
And he had to see her. It was still the middle hours of the night. Not midnight, not dawn. That interminable stretch in between, reserved for the deepest of sleep. But he was not asleep, and he wanted to see her. Just for a moment. A snatch of a glimpse, to reassure himself that she was safe. Unharmed.
He threw the covers from his naked frame and pulled a pair of grey boxer shorts on. Her room was two flights up; he took the stairs at a fast pace, and walked quickly down the corridor, until he reached her closed door.
For the briefest of moments, he hesitated. After all, this was her private room. He had no real right to tiptoe across the threshold. But his need to see her outweighed any other concerns he might have had.
He turned the door knob and pushed the door inwards. Her bed, centred in the room, was in complete darkness. He didn’t wish to disturb her. Slowly, he moved across the carpeted floor, until he was close enough to see properly.
But the bed was empty.
He spun around on the spot, towards the ensuite. It, too, was pitch black. His pulse was a raging torrent in his ears as he strode across the room and flicked the lights on. Jane’s bed was made. She had not slept in it.
Heart beating like a jackhammer, he strode out of the room and into the one beside it.
No Jane.
He checked every room in the top two floors before he finally gave into a sense of panic.
But no one could have broken into his home. The security was almost presidential. And she could not have left without his being alerted. So she had to be somewhere. Didn’t she?
He groaned softly and moved through his own floor of the residence, before moving swiftly downstairs, to the first floor.
He checked every room, and finally, saw it. A faint light beneath the kitchen door. He pushed it inwards, not even bothering to be quiet now. He was terrified, for the first time in his life. True fear had spiked his veins with adrenalin, and he did not like it.
Jane was sitting at the kitchen bench, her head in her hands. She looked up when he entered, her blue eyes heavy in her face.
“Are you okay?” He asked, the angry tirade he’d been about to deliver evaporating when he saw her weary features.
She nodded quietly. “I… couldn’t sleep.”
He moved across the kitchen, and came to stand beside her. His chest was heaving with the rise and fall of his breathing. “Why not?”
She shrugged, and toyed with her fingers in her lap.
“Jane?” He prompted, when she remained quiet.
When she looked at him, her eyes were moist. “I guess it’s being back here. Talking about the past. I feel like I’m back where I was, three years ago.” She shrugged. “It’s just weird.”
“You’ve been crying.”
She sobbed. “No I haven’t.”
His smile was unexpectedly kind. He reached out and padded a thumb across her cheek, wiping away the residual moisture there.
“I’m fine,” she said awkwardly, pulling away from his gentle touch.
Carlo let out a sigh of frustration before reaching down and lifting Jane easily off the bar stool. He put her over his shoulder, barely registering her gasp of surprise.
“What are you doing?” She managed to ask, as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.
“Helping you sleep,” he responded with grim determination.
“I can walk, you know.”
Carlo didn’t answer. He moved up the next flight of stairs, and shouldered the door open to what had been their marital bedroom. He didn’t put her on her feet. Instead, he carried her across to the bed and lay her carefully down on top of the mattress. Before she could so much as sit up and ask what he was doing, he lay down beside her, and clamped an arm around her waist. He drew her backwards, snug to his frame, and held her tight.
Jane’s body was both energised and exhausted. She knew she should fight him. That she should push his hand away and walk out of their room, as she had done their marriage. But being back in the crook of his arm, staring out of his window at the Roman sprawl beneath, Jane was the happiest she’d been in forever. Since that birthday of hers, several years earlier, when they’d made a new life together.
So she didn’t fight it. She accepted that in that moment, she needed him. There would be a time to be strong. To resist the comfort that only he could provide.
And it was not yet that moment.
She let out a small husky breath of contentment and smiled. Her fingertips lifted up and curled around his warm, muscular forearm. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, and closed her eyes. Finally, back where she belonged, sleep came easily.
At least, it did for Jane.
Carlo held her close, but he barely dared breathe. He could not do anything that might disturb her. He ran his hands lightly over her hair. She had always loved that.
It still smelled the same.
Like vanilla and citrus.
But the fragrance made him realise how much time had passed.
How much time they’d lost.
He kept her pressed against his body. When, in her sleep, she began to roll onto her back, he propped up on his elbow, so that he could stare down at her. And then, gently, he pressed his lips to hers. He had only meant to kiss to her. But when he began to pull away, Jane shook her head and dragged him back down. Her mouth was warm and moist; she kissed him desperately, and her nails ran down his shirtless back, scoring marks against his flesh.
Again, he tried to break the kiss but Jane pushed away the covers, and pulled for his body. With a brief flash of worry that he was taking advantage of their situation, he moved over her. And she lifted her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him close to her feminine core.
Her fingers dropped to his shorts, and she pushed at them, groaning when they gave resistance at his knees. Carlo laughed softly in her ear and stepped out of them easily, so that he was completely naked. The moment was wonderful and terrifying. The moonlight still shone across the bed, dousing them in magic and a beat out of the normal fabric of time.
Her pyjamas made him smile. A simple white cotton nightgown, he remembered pulling them out of her wardrobe earlier that day. His hands pushed at the hem at the same time hers pulled. In unison, they lifted it higher, until it ruched around her flat stomach. Her briefs were sensible white cotton. Carlo disposed of them quickly, and then brought his mouth back to hers.
His kiss was loaded with desire and her body responded. She arched her back hungrily, and lifted her hips, swaying them against the hard planes of his body, inviting him to meet her pleasure.
He didn’t need to be asked. He was there with her, needing and wanting and knowing that the only answer to what they both felt was for them to come togethe
r.
Even in that moment, as besieged as he was by passion, he remembered the conversation they’d shared over dinner. Her worry about the consequences of their union earlier that day. He reached out blindly for his bedside table, and pulled a condom from the drawer. He protected them both instinctively and then took her in a fever of need.
He thrust into her once; deep and fast, and was rewarded by her immediate bucking. She lifted off the bed and cried out loudly, as her body began to tremble with pleasure. He ran his hands over her body, pausing as he cupped her breasts and teased the taught nipples. The nightgown, while lovely, was now frustrating him. He pushed it higher, and she lifted her head to ease it off altogether. He pitched it across the room and moved deeper into her, lowering his mouth and taking a nipple between his teeth at the same time.
She exclaimed sharply as waves of sensual power made her body convulse. She was weak. Weakened by her need for him. But she was strong, too. Stronger than she’d ever been. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in as far as she could. He smiled against her breasts, and his hand tormented the other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, so that her whole body broke out in goose bumps.
He knew every single inch of her. He knew what she liked. What made her moan softly into the night. But that was not what drove him now. Instinct alone pressed him into her; and instinct was responsible for the way his hands and mouth ran over her smooth skin.
He moved on intuition alone, and when she fell apart in his arms with a small cry of ecstasy, he gave into his hunger and chased after her. They clung together, as one, and the edges of their universe frayed and smudged beyond recognition.
Jane’s pale blue eyes stared up at him, and the silver of the moonlight bounced off her. She was an angel in his bed. He kissed her gently, terrified of breaking their contact in case it broke the moment.
But Jane smiled sweetly up at him, and lifted a hand to cup his face. “I have missed you,” she said again, and she shook her head slightly.
She fell asleep again moments later, a smile on her face, her breathing rhythmic, her body naked beside his. Carlo held her tight, inhaling her sweet soapy smell.
At the age of twelve, Carlo had run away from home simply because he’d known he could no longer live under the same roof as someone like his father. He’d done it tough for years, but his intellect and determination alone had forged a successful life for him. Far greater than simply surviving, Carlo had thrived. He’d bought into Italy’s largest bank in his early twenties. A decade after turning his back on the violent criminal enterprise his father had chosen to make his life.
Carlo had respected his business instincts, and followed them faultlessly.
And every bone in his body was screaming at him that he had to find a way to keep Jane in his life.
To convince her that they could be happy together, this time around.
Could he turn the threat against her into a happy ending for them?
Carlo had no way of knowing. There was no guarantee, and only one undeniable fact. That he would regret it for the rest of his life if he did not try.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jane woke blissfully happy. Her body ached in the best possible way. She stretched her arms above her head and flopped onto her back, then angled her head to the other side of the bed.
Her happiness lasted precisely as long as it took for her to realise that Carlo was no longer there.
Pained memories of their marriage flooded back to her. How many nights had she writhed with pleasure in his arms and then woken alone? It was as if the sun had broken whatever magical spell existed between them, and dissipated completely the dependence that kept them together night after night.
She reached out and felt his pillow; it was still warm. The indent from his dark head perfectly in the centre. She lowered her hands and clasped them on top of her stomach.
What are you doing, Jane? She stared up at the ceiling with a desperate expression on her face. Leaving Carlo Santini had been the hardest thing she’d had to do. And her life had hardly been a walk in the park. How could she be so stupid as to fall back into his bed? Sure, he’d come barrelling to London in the guise of her shining night in armour, but did she really need a hero? She groaned into the empty bedroom. Three years she’d lived without him, and she’d managed to make a life for herself. So why was she letting him get under her skin all over again?
Nothing had changed. He was still the same confusing mess of impossible-to-understand, desperately gorgeous masculinity. One minute, she was his life blood, and he acted as though he couldn’t draw breath without her. The next? He was gone. Poof! Nowhere to be seen.
She propped up on her elbows and looked around the bedroom they’d once shared. Her nightgown was on the floor. She slid her legs over the side of the bed and reached for it, hooking it with her toes and lifting it back to the bed.
“Still a toe acrobat, I see,” his amused comment made her startle. She clutched the nightgown to her naked chest and spun around in the bed.
Her heart almost stopped beating at the sight of him. Carlo stood, dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a white singlet top. His dark hair was wet – she guessed he still went for his morning swims – and he was propping the door with a bare foot. Because his hands were engaged, holding a tray of food.
“What is that?” She asked, her nose crinkling as she surveyed the tray laden with food.
“Something to start the day with.” He stepped inside the room and let the door fall shut with a quiet click behind him.
Jane pulled her nightgown over her head quickly, in an attempt to hide her obvious confusion.
“The day?” She said, finally, when he didn’t elaborate.
His smile was almost as delicious looking as the selection of pastries she could see on the corner of the tray.
Carlo nodded ruefully. He placed the platter on the foot of the bed and then sat beside Jane. He picked up her hand, and ran his fingers over the empty band on her ring finger. The place her wedding jewellery had once sat.
“I want to spend the day with you, si.”
Jane stared at him as though he’d sprouted wings. “But it’s a Tuesday.”
He smiled. “I know.”
“You work on a Tuesday. In fact, you work every day.”
He laced his fingers through hers, and lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed it slowly, and Jane’s pulse began to fire in her veins. She pulled her hand away and rubbed the flesh, where his mouth had singed her.
“I am well aware that I was far from a perfect husband.”
Jane pretended to pick a piece of lint off the duvet. Her throat was thick with emotion. The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come out. He had not been a perfect husband, and the reason was obvious. Marriage shouldn’t require constant effort. Theirs had done so. Because they should never have entered into it.
“You said last night that I spent twelve months pushing you away. And you were right.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Jane froze. “I should have handled our marriage differently. In the circumstances, I do not blame you for leaving me.”
Jane’s heart turned over in her chest, as her blue eyes linked with his warily. “You don’t?”
“No, cara. I blame myself for it all. For everything. You were little more than a child, with no experience, and I was hardly considerate of your youth and naivety.”
“I didn’t want a babysitter, Carlo. I wanted a husband.”
“You wanted a family. You wanted love and security and instead you ended up alone and insecure, in a foreign country.”
He had so perfectly summed up her feelings that she could only nod heavily.
“I cannot change the past.” He reached up and ran a finger across her cheek, until he touched the corner of her lips. “If I could, I would step back in time and punch myself for how I treated you.”
Jane gasped and Carlo took advantage of her parted lips, to slide his finger inside her warm, moist mouth.
Jane moaned as she clamped her lips down and sucked on it gently. He had taught her what her body was capable of, and also how to please him. She had kissed him all over, and revelled in the power she had to drive him to complete oblivion. As she moved her mouth over his finger, both were reminded of the way she had pleasured him more intimately.
Carlo’s erection strained against his jeans, as his ex-wife fluttered her eyes shut and kneeled up, keeping her mouth around his finger. She moved herself closer to his body, until she straddled him where he sat.
“Cara,” his voice was hoarse, desire making any kind of thought almost impossible. “You must stop.”
Jane’s eyes flew open, and her lips curved into a seductive smile. “Must I?”
He nodded, but his arousal was disagreeing with him violently. He ran the finger she’d teased with her mouth between her breasts, and then lower still, to the hem of her nightgown. He lifted it, and while her legs were spread across his lap, he slid his still-moist finger inside of her. Her face immediately reacted, as pleasure spiralled through her body. He moved his finger, as he wished to move himself, until her cheeks were pink and her eyes were glazed. Then, he removed himself and eased her backwards on the bed.
He wanted her, but more than that, he wanted her to understand. Everything. He kissed her hard on the mouth, then dragged his mouth to her most intimate heart. He kissed her core, moving his tongue against her until her cries became a string of desperation. She slammed her palms against the mattress as her body convulsed with pleasure, and Carlo lifted his head, his expression impossible to interpret. Not that she could even look at him. Her eyes were filled with explosive stars; her insides were melting as though warmed wax had been tipped into her soul.
“This has always worked between us,” he said quietly. “It always will, I think.”
Jane was not capable of speaking, yet. She lifted her hands and covered her face. How could he make her body respond so desperately? So wantonly? What was going on with her?
“Do not hide from me, Jane.” When she didn’t react, he reached up and peeled her fingers off her eyes. “There is nothing shameful about the way we make each other feel.”
The Italian's Innocent Bride Page 8
