by Lucy King
But what if he had had access to help? was the thought now ricocheting around his head as he shoved open the heavy oak door and went in. What if he had been able to talk it through with someone who wouldn’t have judged but could have helped him make sense of it all? How differently might his life have turned out? Could he have had friends? Could he have had what Finn had? A wife, a child, a family?
And why the hell was he even thinking about it? His instruction to Carla to quit pushing Finn on him could just as easily have been directed at himself, because for some infuriating reason it was becoming harder to put him from his mind too. He didn’t want what Finn had. Regrets were pointless. Hindsight was something only fools indulged in. Envy, the kind that had sliced through him when Carla had been talking about how fortunate she’d been to have a friend like Georgie, served no purpose whatsoever.
And yet, it struck him suddenly, perhaps he did have the chance to talk about it now. With Carla. She was always encouraging him to reveal his secrets and pushing him for answers. What if he trusted her with his past and gave them to her?
No.
That was one reckless move even he couldn’t make. He couldn’t afford to make connections and allow emotions to invade his life. He didn’t want to ever suffer the pain of rejection and abandonment again, or experience the devastation when everything went wrong. The way he’d chosen to live his life, free from exploitation, free from fear, alone, was fine.
But what if it wasn’t? What if it could be better?
The insidious thoughts slunk into his head and dug in their claws, and his heart began to thump. What if Carla had had a point about no man being an island, even him? He was finding it impossibly difficult to maintain his facade with her, but maybe he ought to simply stop trying. Maybe he ought to let her see the dark, empty man beneath the easy-going surface. She’d been through it. She’d understand. She’d be the last person to judge. And then perhaps he’d be able to ease up on the constant drive for more and find some kind of peace.
All he had to do, he thought, nevertheless sweating at the mere concept of it, was take that risk.
* * *
By the time they’d finished dinner and everything had been cleared away Carla, staring out over the lagoon from the terrace upon which they’d eaten, was unable to stand the tension radiating off Rico any longer.
From the moment they’d left the city, she laden with bags, he carrying a ten-kilo box of groceries as if it weighed nothing, he’d been on edge and distant, as if somewhere else entirely, and it had twisted her stomach into knots.
What was behind it? she’d asked herself all evening, the knots tightening. It couldn’t be the amount she’d spent on clothes because she was paying him back, for everything. So was he concerned she was going to continue to try and persuade him to meet his brother again?
Well, he had nothing to fear on that front. She’d gone over it endlessly while trying on outfits, and it had struck her suddenly that she could be flogging a dead horse here, that he might never feel about Finn the way she wanted him to, and perhaps she ought to stop.
And while her heart broke for him, and for Georgie and Finn, if she was being brutally honest, it was none of her business. It was between Rico and Finn. Or not. But either way, however great the debt she owed Georgie, she had to let it go, because who was she to tell Rico what to think or what to do? Her family wasn’t exactly functional, and what made her an expert on relationships anyway?
She’d blithely told him that she was over what had happened to her, but she’d realised that was a lie. If she was truly over it she wouldn’t fear commitment. She wouldn’t fear getting swallowed up and losing her identity and her independence. By now she’d have had at least one proper relationship. She might even be married. So she was a big fat fraud and it was time to stop.
Taking a deep breath, Carla slid her gaze from the dark waters of the lagoon and turned to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, her heart pounding when he met her gaze, his eyes and expression unfathomable.
‘What for?’
‘Well, firstly for getting my bag stolen and upturning your life this last week. I can tell how hard it’s been for you. And secondly, for trying to get you to see the whole Finn thing differently. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t want to discuss it and I haven’t respected that. I’ve been overstepping. Hugely. With the best of intentions, but still. So I apologise.’
For a moment there was silence and then he gave her the faintest of smiles. ‘Don’t go giving up on me now, Carla.’
Something in his voice lifted the tiny hairs at the back of her neck and she went very still. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I was hoping to talk to you.’
‘What about?’
‘My youth.’
Her heart thudded against her ribs. ‘Why?’
‘You suggested therapy.’
‘I’m no psychologist.’
‘But you understand and I trust you and I’d like your insight. Please.’
The thumping of her pulse intensified and she went hot with apprehension. He was shedding his detachment. He’d decided to put his trust in her. This was the kind of emotional intimacy she’d always striven to avoid. She couldn’t get involved. Yet she already was, she had to acknowledge. She had been from the moment she’d started pushing him to open up and answer her questions. And for him to even think about asking for her insight—although what made him think she’d have any she had no idea—must have cost him greatly.
How could she possibly refuse him? Maybe she could help him. Maybe, however unwise it might turn out to be, she even wanted to. ‘I’ll fetch more wine.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NO AMOUNT OF alcohol was going to make this easier, thought Rico, his heart beating a thunderous tattoo at the realisation that there was no going back from this. But at least it was dark.
‘I’m not entirely sure where to start,’ he said thickly, once Carla had filled their glasses and set the bottle down on the table.
‘Why don’t you tell me about your parents?’
Shifting on his seat to ease the discomfort, he forced his mind back to the people he barely remembered. ‘My mother was a dentist, my father was an estate agent. From what I can recall, which isn’t a lot, we were a small, normal, middle class family.’
‘Were you loved?’
He allowed a tiny seam of memory to open up, a hazy blur of hugs and kisses, and felt a ribbon of warmth wind through him. ‘Yes.’
‘You said they died in a car crash. What happened?’
‘I was at school,’ he muttered, rubbing his chest as if that might erase the sharp stab of pain. ‘A car overtaking on a bend went straight into them. They were killed instantly.’
‘And the driver?’
‘Him too.’
‘So you didn’t even get justice.’
Her statement lodged deep and then detonated. ‘No,’ he said, realising with a start that he’d never thought about in that way even though it was an obvious explanation for the intense anger he’d felt at the time. ‘I got no closure at all. I had no time to process the shock or the grief before I was taken into care. It was like I’d been hurled off a moving ship and into a heaving, churning sea.’
‘I can’t begin to imagine,’ she said softly, her voice catching.
‘I was so lost and so alone. I’d been ripped apart from everything I’d ever known and tossed into a whole new world. A new school, new faces, a new home. Except none of the places I lived in were home. There was nothing wrong with them, it was just that I quickly learned that wherever I was sent was only ever going to be temporary and so to make attachments would be pointless. I realised I belonged nowhere and I ran away to find something better.’ He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. ‘If only I’d known... Dio, the fear...the hunger...’
‘So the g
ang became your family.’
‘That was what I’d hoped,’ he said, for a moment losing himself in the sympathy he could see in her gaze and feeling the ribbon of warmth begin to unfurl and spread. ‘I was so excited about it. I genuinely thought I’d found a place to belong, but I was swiftly disabused of that too.’
‘In what way?’
‘There was no loyalty,’ he said, his chest tightening as the memory of the shock, bewilderment and finally devastation flashed into his head. ‘No code of honour. I was just useful and light-fingered and suited their purposes. And then when I was arrested and therefore no longer of any use they were nowhere to be seen, which is why I took the job.’
‘That must have been devastating to discover,’ she said softly, her eyes clouding in the candlelight.
‘It was. I put my trust in the wrong people and I allowed myself to be exploited. But by the time I realised what was going on I was in too deep to get out.’
‘You said you were responsible for the accounting,’ she said, her eyes fixed to his.
‘I was good with figures. They didn’t care that I was only fifteen. They put me in charge of cleaning the money and collecting the debts. I was handy with my fists and big for my age. One time I nearly put a man in hospital. I carry the shame and guilt of every dirty, terrible thing I did to this day.’
‘You were so young.’
‘But old enough to know right from wrong.’
‘None of it was your fault.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘No,’ she said vehemently, sitting up and leaning forwards, the sudden burn in her eyes scything through the numb chill he’d lived with for so long. ‘Your parents’ death was a tragedy, and there was nothing anyone could have done about that, but you were let down by a whole host of people who should have done more. You were what, eleven, twelve, when you started running away?’
‘About that.’
‘They should have tried harder. Someone should have fought for you. You should not have been allowed to slip through the net.’
Maybe she was right, he thought, the tension gripping his body easing a fraction. He’d been little more than a child. He’d been dealt an impossibly tough hand and he’d had no idea how to play it.
‘And as for your later actions,’ she continued in the same fierce tone, ‘I suspect you’ve been trying to atone for them ever since.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The donation to the consul’s wife’s charity for homeless children. What other charities do you support, Rico?’
Plenty. Anonymously where possible and always at a distance. ‘A few.’
‘I thought so. I bet you’ve done an immense amount of good over the years.’
‘It will never be enough.’
‘You have to forgive yourself.’
‘That’s easier said than done.’
‘But not impossible. If I can, you can.’
He frowned. ‘I thought you said you knew you weren’t to blame.’
‘That was after the therapy,’ she said. ‘Initially, I blamed everyone for what happened to me but the person responsible. I was livid at having been discovered. I’d considered myself so sophisticated, so much more interesting and mature than everyone else. I accused Georgie of being jealous and my parents of not wanting me to be happy. When the scales finally fell from my eyes, thanks to the therapy, I felt like the biggest fool in the world. I hated that he’d had the power to do that to me and that I’d been so easy to manipulate. I swore that I would never allow it to happen again, and it hasn’t. So I know all about shame and guilt and grubbiness.’
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘In this old thing?’
‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ And the strongest. Whereas he felt utterly weak and drained. The ground beneath his feet was unstable and he suddenly felt strangely adrift, which was why he turned his attention to something he could hold on to, something he did understand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
* * *
Rico did an excellent job of attempting to wear Carla out, but while he slumbered away on the bed, of which he now seemed to hog less and upon which he now barely twitched, sleep eluded her.
While she sat on the balcony watching the sparkle of moonlight on the water, their conversation ran through her head as if on a never-ending loop, the details of which she didn’t think she’d ever forget.
Her throat closed and her eyes prickled just to think about it. Her heart was in tatters for the boy he’d been, for all the children all over the world who one way or another slipped through the net. She couldn’t imagine the loneliness he must have felt. The terror and the confusion and the hunger, the fear of which he still clearly carried with him. And all the while struggling to come to terms with the death of his parents.
His detachment and desire to move through life on his own made so much sense now. No wonder he kept himself apart and relied on no one but himself. No wonder he didn’t form attachments when he’d experienced the destruction they could bring. She could totally understand why he didn’t want to look back and why he had no mementos of the past he’d spent a long time trying to forget. He’d been exploited and abused, manipulated and badly let down. Who’d want to remember that?
How on earth had he had the strength to survive? she wondered, her chest tightening as she tried and failed to imagine the horror and brutality he’d been a part of. She’d always thought that she’d had a rough time of growing up, but compared to his experiences, hers had been a walk in the park. She’d had people looking out for her, even if she hadn’t appreciated it at the time. Rico had undergone hell and, with the exception of the judge who’d given him a way out, had had no one on his side, no one fighting his corner.
He’d learned how to hide it, and hide it well, but once upon a time he’d been as vulnerable as her and just as easy to prey upon. He knew as well as she did what it was like to be manipulated and exploited. Was that why she had the feeling that he instinctively got her? Was that why when he called her beautiful she didn’t inwardly cringe as usual but deep down purred instead? Compliments, which could be flimsy, easily given and weren’t to be trusted, had always made her uncomfortable, but when they came from Rico—was she really the most beautiful woman he’d ever met?—they made her melt.
In fact, she thought, something in her chest shifting and settling, everything about him made her melt. His strength. His resilience. His innate if reluctant chivalry and the way he’d taken care of her after her bag had been stolen, even though she’d resisted with every bone in her body.
Even if he couldn’t figure out what the judge had seen in him, she could. She saw a frightened, grieving child who’d found himself in a situation of indescribable torment. She saw an indomitable will to survive by any means necessary, and the inherent good that had made him the incredible man he was today.
‘What are you doing out here?’
His deep, rumbling voice broke into her swirling thoughts and she turned to see him standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist.
Feeling strangely giddy, her heart thumping unusually fast, Carla got to her feet and undid the belt of her robe. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to dwell on the way the foundations of her existence seemed to be shifting. She just wanted to feel. So she put a hand on his chest and gave him a little push and they tangoed back until he was lying on the bed and she was straddling him, his towel having been discarded en route.
Without a word she leaned down, put her hands on his head and sealed her mouth to his. She kissed him hard and long, her pulse pounding and desire throbbing deep inside her. He clamped one big, strong hand on her hip and the other at the back of her neck, his palms like a brand on her heated skin.
Tearing her mouth from his, her chest heaving and her breath coming in pants, she dott
ed a trail of tiny kisses down the column of his throat, the hard-muscled expanse of his chest, her heart thumping as she took extra care with his scars, and then lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, shimmying down his body until she reached his long, hard erection, steel encased in velvet.
She could feel the tremors gripping his large frame and when she wrapped her fingers round the base of him and her lips around the tip the groan that tore from his mouth sent reciprocal shivers shooting up and down her spine. She took him deeper into her mouth and his hands moved to her head, threading through her hair, holding her when he needed her, guiding her yet giving her the freedom to use her hands, her mouth and her tongue to drive him to the point where his hips were jerking and his breathing was harsh, his control clearly unravelling.
And then he was lifting her off him and rolling her over, applying a condom and sliding into her with one long, hard, smooth thrust, lodging deep inside her, and staring into her eyes as if trying to see into her soul.
She clung on to him, her gaze locked with his as he began to move, slowly, steadily, driving into her, pushing her higher and higher each time, making her shatter once, white lights flashing in her head, and then again, and again, before with a great groan he buried himself hard and deep and poured into her.
She was wrung out physically and emotionally and her last drowsy thought before she finally fell asleep was, I could stay here with him for ever.
* * *
At the helm of his boat, with Carla sitting in the stern, Rico was feeling lighter than he had in years yet at the same time oddly uneasy, as if the world had been broken up and put back together with the pieces in the wrong place.
Something had shifted inside him last night, he thought, the frown that he felt he’d been wearing all morning deepening as he increased the throttle and they sped off in the direction of the island of Murano. With her insight and understanding Carla had sliced through his long-held doubts and shone a light on his darkest fears. She’d somehow given him permission to let go of the shame and the guilt he’d carried around for so long—even if he didn’t think he could let it go just yet—and he had the strange sensation that tiny droplets of light might slowly be beginning to drip into the great well of nothingness inside him.
