by Lynne Graham
Now, with her fancy dress laid out on the bed and a bath run, Cordelia thought back to what Luca had said. There was a knot in her stomach. Her dad would be arriving at Luca’s villa in under three hours, before the charity gala was due to begin. He was walking into a rolling estate the likes of which he had never seen before and he would quickly realise the set-up and just how magnificent it was going to be. She had gaily told him that Luca, despite what they had both originally assumed, was pretty well off. She’d played down the extent of his wealth because somehow it seemed okay for ‘pretty well off’ to be a simple oversight on Luca’s part, something that might not have reasonably come up in conversation, whereas, ‘billionaire who owned vast vineyards and half of Italy’ wasn’t quite such an acceptable oversight. And something in her resisted the thought of denigrating the guy she was so hopelessly and foolishly in love with.
‘You just don’t know what you’re going on about,’ she announced out of the blue.
Standing in the doorway to the en-suite bathroom with just his jeans on, because he had discarded his white linen shirt on the ground, Luca paused and looked at her with a frown.
There were times when she was so utterly illogical that he was reduced to complete speechlessness.
Who’d have thought? She could swim like a fish for miles, could handle a boat like a sailor and could talk to fishermen as if she were one of them, making them obey her orders without complaint, and yet, out of the blue, she said something like this that left him scratching his head and wondering what the hell she was talking about. Unpredictable. He’d never cared for unpredictable but he’d had to get used to it and fast.
Whatever she was now trying to say, his gut feeling told him it was going to be a convoluted conversation.
‘Trust me,’ Luca said smoothly, deliberately going for what he knew she wasn’t talking about, but seeing it as a safe port in what could be an uncomfortable gathering storm, which was the last thing either of them needed hours before a gala where their engagement was going to be officially announced to all and sundry. ‘That dress is going to look amazing on you, tesoro.’
Cordelia was sufficiently distracted by that random comment to look down at the dress laid out on the bed by the young housekeeper. She’d tried it on the one time a hundred years ago in that shop, forgotten what she looked like in it, and now quailed at the thought of appearing in it in front of a bunch of people she didn’t know.
It was long, which was reassuring. But it was tight, which most definitely was not.
And then there were the shoes. Several inches of nude into which her feet would have to be squeezed.
‘I’m going to look like a clown,’ she muttered.
Luca raked his fingers through his hair and half smiled. This was what he liked, this connection that ran like a current between them. It felt, suddenly, as though a signpost that had been there all along was staring him in the face, pointing him in a direction, and he frowned, in the grip of something he couldn’t quite grasp even though, deep inside, he felt that he would be able to if he thought a bit harder about it.
All he knew was that he missed her easy laugh when it wasn’t there and the way she would look at him, those slanting glances that always turned him on as no one else had ever been able to. He missed the way he occasionally felt taken for granted and didn’t seem to mind all that much. He missed the essence of her, although he wasn’t really too sure what that essence was. He just knew that in some low-level way, he missed it.
Hearing the uncertainty in her voice relaxed him now because she sounded more normal, more like the girl he’d so quickly become reacquainted with ever since she had appeared on his doorstep with her bombshell revelation.
‘You could never look like a clown.’ Luca strolled towards her, a slow smile transforming the harsh contours of his beautiful, lean face.
‘I can’t tell you the last time I wore a dress.’ Annoyingly, Cordelia was finding it hard to hang onto what she had meant to say to him. He was so close now that she could smell the late summer warmth on his skin and see the ripple of muscle in his chest and shoulders. He always knew that the rough edges could be smoothed like this, with a touch.
The second he got just a little too near her, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She could be cross, angry, dejected or plain frustrated to within an inch of her life, and her body would still do its own thing, would still curve towards him like a plant turning towards the sun, searching for nourishment.
‘What about those dances you tell me you used to go to…?’
‘Dances?’
‘Where all the local talent would strut their stuff once a month in the village hall.’
‘A lot of people found the love of their lives at those dances,’ she pointed out. ‘Maybe if I’d worn dresses instead of trousers, I might have been one of the lucky ones.’
Luca lowered his eyes. He didn’t say a word and she had a sudden urge to prod him into something more than tactful silence, but what would be the point of that? They were where they were.
‘Before you distracted me with the whole dress thing,’ she said, although impetus had been lost, ‘I was going to tell you that you just don’t know anything about Dad.’
Temporarily lost, Luca looked at her with bewilderment. She wasn’t going to clarify. She was going to wait until he clocked on with where she was going with this and woe betide if he missed the turning.
He felt something shift inside him, some illogical feeling that made him vaguely uncomfortable even though it was a feeling that he perversely liked.
‘You mean,’ he said slowly, thinking on his feet, ‘the bit about him not being as nervous about being here at the gala this evening as you think he might be?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
Luca breathed a sigh of relief. He cupped the side of her face with his hand and looked at her solemnly. ‘I meant every word of it, cara mia. You’ve clung to one another over the years and I am sure he has built up a dependency on you because of that, has been fearful of you striking out because past experience has taught him that striking out can end in tragedy, but you have cut that tie and don’t be surprised to find that he’s more resilient than you think he will be. I mean, did he express any hesitation about making the trip over here?’
‘Not as such.’ She shrugged.
‘There you go. Point proven.’
‘Because he felt badly about complaining down the end of a telephone doesn’t mean that he actually wants to be over here. He’s going to be gutted when I tell him…what I have to tell him.’
‘We could break the news together,’ Luca suggested and she laughed shortly.
‘You mean like the happily loved-up couple we’re not?’ She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She’d made it sound as though this were a black-and-white situation. Her voice had been tart and sarcastic and bitter.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered indistinctly, and Luca looked at her with suddenly cool eyes.
‘I don’t know what’s going on with you, Cordelia, but, whatever it is, you need to put it on hold, at least for the duration of this gala. Do you think you could do that?’
Cordelia wanted the ground to open up and swallow her because what had he done but try and deal with what had landed on his lap in the most gentlemanly way possible? He was right when he said that that had been an unnecessary outburst. More to the point, it wasn’t true. He might not be in love with her, but what they had was certainly not the cold, emotionless relationship of two people forced into an arrangement against their will.
They talked, they laughed, they made love and there was sufficient affection there for her to really believe that he would do his utmost to be a good father and a good husband.
‘I’m just nervous.’ She lowered her eyes, hating the drop in temperature between them. She needed his support and driving a wedge between th
em just at this moment seemed an incredibly stupid thing to have done.
She took a couple of faltering steps towards him and looked at him hesitantly.
She felt rather than saw some of the icy tension ease out of him and it flashed through her mind that if he could touch her and banish all thoughts from her head, then she could do the same for him.
It was the power of sex and, while it certainly wasn’t love, there was something vital and fierce about it and she should be very happy that it was still there, like an electric charge always running between them.
‘We’ll be late.’ Luca raked his fingers through his hair and fidgeted on his feet, suddenly restless.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cordelia murmured and he looked at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
‘I’ll bet.’ He pulled her towards him. His breathing had thickened and he was already smoothing his hands over her waist, hitching up the shirt and then tugging down the zip of her trousers. ‘It’s a low trick to use sex to change my mood,’ he growled, with rampant amusement in his voice. ‘I like it.’
Their lovemaking was fast and hard and mind-blowingly passionate.
By the time they hit the bed, clothes had been scattered on the ground. There was none of the usual foreplay. He kissed her urgently, hungrily, and she was wet and hot when he slid one expert finger into her, stoking her moisture and sending her pulses shooting off in all different directions.
She curled her fingers into his hair and arched back as he drove into her and all it took was one thrust for her to feel the exquisite rising pleasure of a soaring orgasm.
Her groan was long and guttural as her whole body stiffened against his rigid shaft. He came as fast as she did, rearing up and thrusting deeper into her.
‘Jesus, woman,’ he said in a shaky voice, when they were both back on planet Earth, ‘what was that all about?’
‘Don’t you know?’ she breathed.
His head was buried against the nape of her neck and he was limp against her. She stroked his shoulders and was overwhelmed with a feeling of complete tenderness. There were times when he seemed so vulnerable. Times like right now.
‘We need to get ready.’ His voice was muffled and he tilted his head to one side and their eyes met, a long, steady gaze that made her hold her breath because it felt loaded.
He levered himself up and stood, staring down at her. ‘Your dad is going to be here in a couple of hours. I don’t think he’ll be too impressed if he finds us in bed, do you? Although he would have a pretty vivid picture of how we ended up where we have, with a baby on the way.’
With which, he vanished into the bathroom to emerge less than twenty minutes later, giving her plenty of time to get into her finery.
Clothed, Luca was impressive. Naked, he was mind-blowing, but now was certainly not the time to hang around appreciating his masculine athleticism and perfectly toned body.
Sylviana, the young girl who had made her appearance on day one, was going to be helping her get ready and Cordelia didn’t wait to watch Luca change.
There was nothing for her to do because an army of hired help had been brought in to prepare the house and grounds for the event. Nothing would be left to chance. From the food to the decorations—everything would be the epitome of perfection.
‘It’s a well-run machine,’ Luca had informed her a couple of days previously. ‘Same faces with the only changes being some VIPs I’m hoping to do business with from the Far East and their various assorted family members and professional colleagues.’
The only snag was the fact that his father would not be able to make it because, with first-class ticket in hand and ready to depart from the small Caribbean island where he had ended up after a couple of months of travelling, a world-class hurricane had decided to put paid to his plans.
Privately, Cordelia had been relieved. One father at a time was plenty enough.
Her nerves were all over the place as she got ready. When Sylviana had entered the bedroom, as sweet and as helpful as ever, Cordelia had heard the distant sounds of things happening downstairs, but as soon as the bedroom door was shut, there was complete silence save for their low murmurs as Cordelia dressed.
The redness of the dress was a direct challenge to that tomboy side of her that only ever felt comfortable in jeans, and she hesitated for a few seconds before Sylviana laughed and informed her, in very broken English, that she was going to look beautiful in it.
Really? Cordelia wanted to say. Even though I’ll be the tallest woman there, and that’s without the five-inch heels?
Italian women were dark and dainty and impossibly pretty, she had discovered, and she didn’t think that this charity gala was going to prove otherwise.
She didn’t glance at herself in the mirror as she got dressed. Sylviana was keen to do the make-up and Cordelia could think of nothing she wanted more because her ability to don warpaint was minimal.
She sat at the dressing table, closed her eyes and let the young housekeeper do her thing.
Her thoughts drifted. There was so much she had to tell her father. She had spoken to him several times on the phone but he was no good when it came to lengthy conversations on the telephone and she, for her part, had felt that there was too much she couldn’t tell him for their conversations to be natural and easy.
She hadn’t asked how the Doris connection was working out and he hadn’t volunteered any information. He’d talked about his catches for the day.
She dreaded to think what would happen when he learned that she, Cordelia, would be spending the majority of her time in Italy. Her brain ached from thinking about it all.
She was on a different planet when Sylviana told her to wake up.
‘Is ready, Signorina Cordelia.’
The reflection staring back at her in the mirror was a woman she didn’t quite recognise.
The contours of the face were the same, but the subtle application of make-up had given her aristocratic cheekbones and…were her lips really so full…her eyelashes quite so thick and long?
Her curls hadn’t been tamed but they had been styled to ripple down her back in a far more orderly fashion.
But the most amazing thing was a figure she had always taken for granted.
Tall, rangy, not particularly curvy had been transformed into six feet of elegance once the nude heels were on.
Cordelia turned round and giggled a little nervously as she reached for the gold clutch bag, which was completely empty save for her mobile phone in case her dad called while she was busy bustling downstairs.
She towered over Sylviana but she was still walking on air as she got accustomed to the heels and made her slow way down the staircase in the general direction of the noise.
Vast areas of the house had been transformed and when she glanced outside, she could see that the same applied to the grounds, with tiny lights everywhere, and lanterns hanging from the trees.
When it was completely dark, it would make a marvellous sight.
This was going to be her home. This magnificent, palatial house was going to be where their child grew up. If they stayed together, who knew? There might very well be other children.
They would have all of this at their disposal. The world would be their oyster. When Cordelia thought of the lovely but narrow life she had lived, when she thought back to her yearning to see what was out there, she knew that she had done the right thing in agreeing to marry Luca.
How could she have, in good conscience, denied their child this birthright?
She paused to glance at the frenetic activity in the hall. It would be chaos in most of the other rooms.
Where was Luca?
She didn’t think he would be found tasting the food to see whether any further tweaks were needed.
In fact, the thought of him doing that brought a smile to her lips
because if there was one thing he had zero interest in, it was what went into the production of all those fine meals that were brought to him by his very talented and loyal staff. Food was always an amusing accompaniment to the main event, which was the wine.
She headed away from the kitchens and the fuss happening in that expansive wing of the villa.
She headed in the direction of his office because she knew that he would probably be working.
It got quieter. She thought of their lovemaking and that, too, made her smile and fired up something proprietorial inside her. He’d made that remark when he had surprised her chatting to the guy with the boat for hire at the lake. His woman. There were times when she had a similar feeling, which was that Luca was her man.
The office door was ajar when she got there. Where the rest of the sprawling mansion was floored with a mixture of wood and marble, a combination of cool and warm, the long corridor with the far more comfortable rooms leading off it, including Luca’s office, was carpeted.
Her steps were soundless. She couldn’t hear anything inside but she pushed open the door just to make sure he wasn’t there and froze.
Literally, she could feel a coldness washing through her, turning her to ice.
She was numb with it as she looked, open-mouthed, at Luca and the woman in his arms.
They didn’t see her. The office was in semi-darkness, as was the corridor down which she had walked, so there was no back light behind her as she watched and stared.
They were standing and they were…entwined. That was the only word for it. Entwined. He had his hands in the woman’s hair and Cordelia could hear the sound of quiet, muffled sobbing.
Isabella.
She didn’t know how she knew that, she just did. The small, fragile woman curled against Luca was the woman he had been destined to marry, and of course the reason there was so much sobbing going on would be Isabella’s distress that she was not going to be the name announced as the lucky fiancée.
