Across the table Libby felt herself responding to his lazily seductive voice with a pooling of heat deep down in her lower body. Would it surprise him to know that he just had to look at her to make her blood run with a molten heat that made Naples’ famous volcano seem as tame as a Baked Alaska? That when she was in his company she was a mixture of so many conflicting emotions she didn’t know who she was, or even if she liked herself? How could she, she ruminated, when she allowed a man who thought so little of her—and whom she disliked in turn—to ensnare her with his irrepressible sexuality, storm her defences in the way he did?
Tautly muscled, superbly lean and broad-shouldered as he was, it wasn’t just her eyes that were drawn to his strong, intensely masculine physique. Every woman who had passed along the street since they had been sitting there had spared him more than just one glance. And why not? she thought, realising that she was as feeble as they were because she couldn’t tug her eyes away from him. He looked rich, virile and handsome, but it was a handsomeness overlaid with that air of authority that drew people’s attention to him, in the sweep of his high, intellectual forehead and his proud, straight nose, in his firm, determined mouth and his forceful jaw.
And she was just as feeble as all the rest of them! Libby thought, because she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him no matter how hard she tried.
Above their sun umbrella the oleander trees exuded their powdery scent, which, with the other exotic smells that seemed to surround her on this pleasure island, was making her head swim in a mix of heady perfume. Suddenly she was experiencing a rare and dizzying lightness of heart and was glad that he had brought her here today.
Caught in the snare of his dark gaze, she saw his black brows come together, grasped the small curse he uttered under his breath.
‘This wasn’t a very good idea.’
He should have taken her somewhere else, he thought, somewhere where they could have been entirely alone—not mistakenly believed that because she was a model she would throw abandon to the shops like most of the women he knew; women who were only interested in how they looked and continually needed to feed their egos to that end.
‘It was yours,’ she reminded him, in a voice that quavered. What was he saying? That he didn’t want to be here with her after all?
‘We all make mistakes,’ he said. ‘And before you tell me—I know. I’ve made a few.’
‘A few?’ A bit of an understatement, she thought, although with a man as proud as Romano was she couldn’t expect a total climb-down all in one day. She wondered, though, why he had had sudden reservations about being there with her. Why he courted this unmistakable and dangerous attraction between them and yet seemed to condemn himself for it at the same time. Did he still think her unfit to grace the world he inhabited, even though she had tried to convince him she wasn’t the person he thought she was? Or was there some other reason for the self-castigating way he had cursed himself just now? Like the chic Italian girl she’d been unable to miss laughing with Giorgio in the most recent of those videos she had watched last night. A woman she had heard Romano referring to as Magdelena in the silkily honeyed tones of a lover.
‘Why are you looking so sorry for yourself suddenly?’ Romano’s eyes were far too discerning as they probed the guarded green of hers.
‘I was wondering if you were going to show me the rest of the island,’ she parried.
He gestured to the waiter hovering in the doorway of the café.
‘If it takes that haunted look out of your eyes and assures me that my efforts won’t be wasted, I’ll make you a gift of Herculaneum,’ he promised, after requesting the bill. He meant the remains of the ancient Roman city over which they had flown earlier, devastated by the volcanic ash that had also claimed Pompeii.
‘OK, you’re powerful,’ she laughed, trying to banish an image of a sleek black bob, sparkling black eyes and petite femininity, ‘but not that powerful!’ Not unless you were talking about his influence among the kings of commerce and industry, or the sensual paradise to which she was sure a woman would find herself transported from the unquestionable expertise of his lovemaking. Because he would be experienced in the art of pleasuring a woman, she was certain of that.
‘Put it away,’ he said, seeing her reaching for her purse after the waiter had reappeared, leaving their bill.
‘I like to go Dutch when I’m with a man,’ she informed him candidly, face flushed, her voice a little husky from her unwitting thoughts just now.
‘Too bad. You’re in Italy now,’ he reminded her with a cordial smile, though his eyes defied her to argue. ‘And I’m not just any man. I’m your—’
He broke off as a shout from across the paved walkway claimed both their attention. My what? Libby thought, wondering what he had been going to say. Her brother-in-law? Her host? The official guardian of her child? Or was she really hoping that he could be something much more intimate than that?
‘Romano!’ A tall, elderly man had come out of the café and was striding towards their table. ‘Romano! Buono giorno!’ He slapped Romano on the shoulder as he got to his feet, giving his hand a firm and lengthy shake.
‘Teodoro is the café owner and an old acquaintance of the family,’ Romano paused from a mutual roll of fast flowing and almost totally incomprehensible Italian to tell her. He said something else to the older man, something that made the proprietor appraise her with openly admiring eyes as Romano introduced her, having no qualms about using her rightful name, she noted, wondering why even such a tiny measure of acceptance by him should make her ache for something inside, make her nerve-endings quiver as her eyes clashed with the glittering ebony of his.
‘So you are Luca’s young widow.’ She wasn’t sure what Romano had told him, but it wasn’t that. On her feet, she smiled up at this likeable Italian, who took the hand she offered, pressing it to his lips. ‘We met once,’ he said in his thickly accented voice, ‘at the Castle Vincenzo. You probably do not remember.’ Which she didn’t, Libby realised, bluffing her way out of having to actually admit as much by giving him one of her naturally warm yet mesmerising types of smile that cameramen all over the world had fallen in love with. It explained, though, how he knew who she was. ‘Such a tragedy.’ She guessed it was because he hadn’t been able to offer her his condolences at the time that he made such a point of doing so now. ‘So young.’ He was shaking his silver-grey head. ‘They were both so young.’
Libby’s smile faltered as her fine brows came together. ‘I’m sorry?’ She shot a questioning glance towards Romano.
He uttered something very terse to Teodoro. He looked, Libby thought, in a hurry to get away.
‘No! No! Per favore!’ Picking up the notes Romano had tossed down on top of the bill, Teodoro was pressing them back into his hand.
‘Grazias.’ A fleeting smile from Romano, a reciprocal slap on the back and he was urging Libby away from their table as though he had a train to catch.
‘What did he mean,’ she quizzed, trying to keep up with him as they turned down into one of the quieter, tree-fringed streets, still puzzling over what Teodoro had said, ‘about the accident? He said “they”.’
Romano was barking some sort of order into his cellphone, his face surprisingly grim. ‘You misheard him?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She had never been so certain of anything in her life. ‘Was there someone else in the car with Luca that day? Did he have a passenger?’
‘Yes.’
‘No one ever told me that. Why not?’ And incredulously, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she persisted, her eyes mystified, hurt.
He didn’t answer as he slipped his phone back into his trouser pocket.
‘Was it a woman?’ she demanded of his dark, forbidding profile. ‘Was it?’
‘Yes.’ His reply was snatched.
‘Who?’
‘Just some girl.’
‘Some girl? Who? Who was she? A hitchhiker?’
‘I believe she was an executive from o
ne of the companies Luca was dealing with.’
‘An executive…’ She broke off, her chest rising sharply beneath the simple sundress. There was an innocent explanation. There had to be. Why, then, was he being so cagey? ‘Were they…? Was he…?’ Having an affair? Her eyes demanded an answer even though her tongue couldn’t bring herself to ask it. Not Luca. Please, not Luca! she prayed.
Romano shook his head, not in negation, she realised, but in frustration because he hadn’t wanted to tell her.
‘Oh, no!’ She turned and moved away from him, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as though in that way she would somehow be protected from the truth.
‘Libby…’ Romano’s hand was gentle on her shoulder, but forcefully she flung it away.
‘Leave me alone!’
‘Libby!’ He came purposefully after her, pulled her to face him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way.’
‘No?’ She was shivering, he noticed, despite the heat, and there were bitter tears making her eyes glitter like emerald pools. ‘In what way were you going to tell me? Or weren’t you? Leave her in the dark and let someone else do it! My husband was having an affair when he died, so why not keep it from me and let one of your friends tell me instead?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ he stressed. ‘Teodoro didn’t know. As far as the outside world was concerned, Luca died with a colleague who happened to be involved in the same deal as he was, which would have accounted for why they were travelling together that morning.’
Because Vincenzo money could pay for anything—even the privacy they guarded so jealously, Libby accepted, torn by the revelation of Luca’s unbelievable betrayal.
‘Even Sophia didn’t know.’ His father had seen to that, Romano thought. Sworn him to secrecy, he remembered.
‘Why not? Wasn’t anything allowed to tarnish the reputation of their favourite son?’
She didn’t see the way Romano flinched at her remark, nor did she absorb anything of her surroundings—a couple walking past them with a dog; the exclusive private villas that ran the length of the street; how the bright pinks of the oleander trees made a stark and pleasing contrast against the diamond-hard blue of the sky.
‘I didn’t think it would matter very much to you. I thought his playing around was some sort of defence mechanism against something that he was too proud to tell me. That things weren’t working out between the two of you. I thought you’d driven him to it. Santo cielo! You were enough to drive any man insane!’
‘And that invalidated my right to know? He was my husband!’ she tossed at him grievously.
Turning her back on him, she was unaware of the car that purred silently to a halt alongside the pavement until strong hands on her shoulders were urging her to step in.
‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you,’ she breathed, not sure whom she wanted to lash out at most—him or his brother. Or even herself for being such a blind, trusting and totally gullible fool.
The disquieting sound of the door closing behind them told her that her wishes were way down on the agenda. The Romanos of this world got what they wanted, however, whenever and wherever they chose!
The car pulled away without any instruction to the driver. He would already be au fait with his employer’s wishes, Libby thought, sitting there in numb silence. She couldn’t believe it. How could Luca have done this to her? she agonised. She’d thought he appreciated why she had to keep going back to England. She’d thought he understood…
‘I loved him.’ Her voice was a small squeak, stifled by the pain of her discovery.
Beside her Romano dragged in a shuddering breath. Wasn’t he already beginning to work that out for himself? It was too soon to tell her that, though. To have to openly admit that on yet another point he had been wrong. Instead, all he said heavily was, ‘So did I.’
‘He wanted to be like you,’ she murmured, staring straight ahead at the thick neck and wide shoulders of the man he had earlier referred to as Miguel behind the screening glass partition. ‘He said he felt overshadowed by everything you did. Everything you were. That was why he was the way he was. Always looking for excitement. Being a bit crazy…’ Not finding it in the arms of other women. Deceiving her. Pretending she was so special when in fact she had meant very little to him at all.
‘He didn’t need to,’ Romano said quietly. ‘He was indulged at every feasible level.’
‘By you?’
‘No, not by me. I was merely the safety net. The one having to pick up the pieces. Bail him out of trouble. Constantly. Because of his hare-brained ideas of having fun. His irresponsibility with money. Even his relationships.’
Stiffly, Libby half turned to face him now. ‘Were there others?’ she whispered, not knowing whether she could bear it if he told her that there were. ‘Were there others while he was married to me?’
Long sable lashes came down, the tautness of his jaw showing her how much it probably pained him to remember his brother like this, and it was several seconds before he replied.
‘Not that I know of.’ His hesitation could have meant he was shielding her from further pain, but somehow Libby knew he was telling her the truth. He was hard-headed, didn’t suffer fools and in business had a reputation for being quite ruthless. But he also had a reputation for being fair and instinctively she knew that, unlike his younger brother—the man she had given her heart to, and who had just driven a stake through it when she had learned of his deception until she felt as though she was bleeding inside—Romano Vincenzo would never lie.
Tell me one thing—’ she was staring straight ahead again, seeing nothing but the past ‘—that night you couldn’t find him—the night I had Giorgio—had you been looking for him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where was he?’
‘In some log cabin somewhere.’
‘With her?’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, she thought, lapsing into silence, because really, what else was there to say?
‘Come on.’ His low command mobilised her into realising how much time must have passed, because it wasn’t until then that she noticed that the car had stopped.
They had arrived at some luxurious and quiet retreat. A contemporary white villa of modern Moorish design, with arched porticoes supported by fine twisted marble columns, set in luxuriant grounds where palm trees stirred gently in the scented breeze.
Like an automaton Libby allowed him to lead her inside.
Wide and striking interior white arches linked open and airy spaces, where pale marble columns, pale rugs and tasteful water-colour paintings lent a whisper of colour to its white walls and tiled floor. A wide sweeping staircase with wrought-iron curlicues followed the contemporary design of the living space, where exquisitely patterned tiles on each vertical rise added dramatic splashes of colour to the villa’s minimalist style.
She gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘Just another of your homes?’
‘My principal home. Or it will be,’ he added, ‘when I marry.’
When I marry.
His words intruded sharply on her numbed senses.
Of course, she thought. He would marry at some stage. He was far too eligible and too darned attractive to remain single forever.
Is it imminent? Though the words flew to her brain, they stopped dead on her tongue. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want any more unwelcome surprises today. One was enough, she thought wretchedly. Anyway, what did it matter? Why should she care? She didn’t. The only reason she was here in Italy was because of Giorgio.
‘Libby…’
‘Don’t.’ She put up her hands in negation of whatever he was going to say. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything,’ she cautioned, feeling exhausted.
‘Can I get you something to eat?’
Wearily, she shook her head. Learning about her son’s father had obviously come as a total shock—thoroughly draining her, Romano observed shrewdly. There was a w
hiteness to the skin beneath the wells of her eyes and around her mouth, and several strands of her bright hair had escaped from its casually tied knot.
‘I’d just like to be alone for a while.’
He didn’t say anything, just indicated for her to precede him up the stairs.
The suite into which he showed her boasted the same sense of airiness and space as the areas downstairs, from its pale walls and white-canopied wrought-iron four-poster bed to the fine, exclusive modern ornaments and the gauzy curtains that were moving gently in the afternoon breeze.
The view from one of the windows beyond the balcony would in other circumstances have quite literally taken her breath away as, way off in the distance, she glimpsed the jutting shape of the Sorrento peninsula, flanked on one side by the wide and glittering Bay of Naples, and on the other by the sweeping, sun-bathed gold of the Gulf of Salerno.
She failed to derive any pleasure from it now.
How could he? she agonised, tormented by what she had learned about Luca. How could he have pretended? Led her on to believe that he’d loved her as much as she’d loved him when all the time he was cheating on her, finding pleasure in another woman’s arms even as she was giving birth to their beautiful baby?
Bitter tears stung her eyes and, turning away from the window, she flung herself down onto the sensuous bed and cried until she could cry no more.
She felt sticky and her dress was crumpled when she woke up what seemed hours later. A glance at the slim silver watch on her wrist, though, revealed that she had only slept for just over forty minutes.
Needing to freshen up, she glanced into the luxurious adjacent bathroom. She was longing for a shower but she’d dropped her bag, with her comb and the change of underwear she had been trained through her job always to carry, somewhere downstairs when she had come in.
She found Romano sitting on one of the white sofas in the magnificently arched living area working with his laptop on a low table in front of him. He looked up as she stepped quietly down off the last curving stair and retrieved her bag from another table near the door.
Blackmailed For Her Baby (Bought For Her Baby Series Book 4) Page 10
