Redemption Of The Untamed Italian (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Clare Connelly

  ‘You have told me how much Almer Hall means to you,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I know!’ Fury eclipsed everything else. She spun away from him, staring at the ocean, its endless rolling towards the shore something from which she would ordinarily have taken reassurance. But she didn’t. Not then. She couldn’t.

  ‘And that you would use that knowledge to blackmail...after everything...’

  ‘It’s not blackmail,’ he denied. ‘This is me giving you what you want, and us both getting what I think we need: more time together.’

  ‘And if I let you do this, you’d be proved right in what you said last night, and I will never let you think me capable of that.’

  She wasn’t looking at him, so didn’t see the surprise that crossed his features.

  ‘This wasn’t about the hedge fund for me, Cesare. I meant that. I simply wanted to be with you, and I still do.’

  His exhalation of breath spoke of relief, but she whirled around to look at him then, grief in every line of her body.

  ‘But you’ll never give me what I really want, and spending another night with you, knowing what your limits are, knowing what you think of me...’ Her voice cracked and she had to pause to take a breath and calm her breaking heart. ‘It’s not possible. It would be hell on earth.’

  But he wasn’t ready to let this go. ‘I’ve just told you I will give you anything.’

  ‘Not this.’

  ‘What? What do you want?’ He moved towards her, and she flinched, not out of fear of him so much as a fear of how readily she could weaken and give in, just to have more time with him. That alone was a reason to stand firm, to hold her ground, because it would destroy her to spend more time with him under these conditions.

  ‘I want more.’

  ‘Sì, uccellina.’

  His eyes scanned her face and her heart turned over because she truly believed that, in that moment, he would have acceded to whatever demand of him she wished to make. So long as it was within his financial means, at least.

  She lifted a hand to her chest, her features showing heartbreak. ‘I want this to be real.’ She felt his chest tighten. Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears. ‘I want to wake up beside you without the phantom ticking of a time bomb as the end draws nearer. I want to wake up beside you every morning for the rest of our lives.’ She swallowed, shocked at how important it felt to say this, even as she saw disbelief etch itself across his face. ‘I want you to love me like I love you,’ she whispered, and even then she hoped. She hoped when there was no reason to because that was the transformative power love held.

  She stared at him, her breath held, her eyes huge, and she waited.

  And finally he said what she’d known he would. That didn’t stop it from hurting, though.

  ‘It’s not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’ she challenged, her eyes determined even as they filled with tears.

  He stayed perfectly still, except for nostrils which flared as he exhaled through them, slowly, as if he was trying to calm his temper. ‘I am offering you something very clear. The same thing I’ve offered all along. Sex. Fun. Full stop.’

  ‘No.’ She denied this. ‘You really think that’s what we’ve been doing?’

  At least he had the decency not to rush into agreement. ‘There are limits to this. Limits to the time we will spend together, limits to what I can offer you. There are boundaries and rules, and that’s good for both of us.’

  ‘Not for me,’ she returned insistently. ‘I don’t want boundaries with you. I want to tear them down and revel in all of you, all the time.’ She lifted up onto the tips of her toes, so her lips were only an inch or so from his. ‘Tell me you don’t feel the same way.’

  He didn’t move, and her heart slammed into her ribs and desperate hope overtook her every nerve ending.

  ‘When my mother died, I swore I would earn my fortune. I swore I would devote my life to that, to making something of myself. It is the only thing I have ever wanted, Jemima. Relationships aren’t a part of who I am. I made this decision a long time ago, and nothing—no one—will change my mind.’ He lifted his hands to cup her face then, holding her right where she was, so his eyes could devour every detail of her features. ‘You are not like any woman I have ever known, and if I was ever going to put that rule aside it would be for you.’ He padded his thumb over her lip. ‘But it’s not what I want.’

  ‘I’m not what you want,’ she corrected.

  ‘I do,’ he corrected. ‘I want you, just not in that way.’ She sucked in a harsh breath that spoke of her pain, but he continued regardless. ‘I want what we have now. I want it for a little while longer, and then I want us to look one another in the eyes, to smile and to say goodbye and thank you, knowing we will never see each other again, but that these memories will always be with us. Can’t you see how right that is? How good?’

  Her chest ached. ‘Leaving you will never feel right. Now, or in a month—never. I’m in love with you, Cesare. There’s no sense, no reason, no sensible, calm, rational end-point to this for me. I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to, I don’t know, have a family with you.’ The words weren’t planned, but as soon as she said them they felt completely true in her soul. ‘I want to grow old with you at my side. I just want you.’

  His expression was laced with shock. ‘This has never been on my radar.’

  She swept her eyes shut. ‘I didn’t know it was on mine until a moment ago. But I do know it, Cesare. In every bone in my body, I know how I feel, and I know that I love you and that I can’t stay with you another moment if there’s no hope that you might love me back.’

  ‘There’s not.’ The words cracked around her. ‘Listen to me.’ His voice was gentler then, an attempt to soften the sticks of dynamite he’d thrown into the room. ‘You don’t love me. It’s completely understandable that you do, but that’s just your inexperience showing. You love sex.’ His lips twisted in something like amusement and her fingertips ached to slap him.

  ‘How dare you?’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t diminish what I feel. I know the difference between lust and love.’

  ‘Do you? How?’

  Her temper spiked. ‘Lust is what I felt for you that night in London, when you kissed me in the restaurant, when you took my virginity. Lust is what I felt when you made my body yours, when you filled me with desire for the first time. Love is what I felt when you showed me what’s in here.’ She pushed at his chest. ‘When you talked about your mother and your childhood and your business and your life. Love is what I felt when you asked me about my life, when you saw beyond the fact I’m Jemima Woodcroft and wanted to know what made me tick. Love is what I felt, night after night, as you held me in your arms and kissed me with a gentleness that came from deep within your soul.’

  His features were like ice. ‘Jemima...’ She waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. He simply stared at her for so long that her lungs hurt, because she was holding her breath and waiting, needing him to say something that would make all this better.

  ‘I think you love me, too,’ she whispered, and she felt as though she were stepping so far out on a limb that it was creaking audibly. ‘You keep saying I’m different from any woman you’ve ever known. You spent half a billion pounds to get me into bed and you want me to stay another month. How do you know that will be enough? How do you know we won’t be having this same conversation in a month’s time?’

  ‘Because I have decided what I want, and I’ll stick to it this time.’

  She shook her head, sorrow for him rippling through her soul. ‘You can’t just switch your feelings off like that, Cesare. You want me in your life, and you know you do.’ She couldn’t let this go. She needed him to see that they were both in love. ‘You spent half a billion pounds because you couldn’t risk that I’d say no to you.’

  His eyes swirled with darknes
s and he took a step back from her, his face angular, his look somehow distant. ‘I had already ordered my lawyers to buy into the hedge fund. Getting you in bed was just the cherry on top.’

  His words made no sense. She shook her head, disputing them. ‘No, you hadn’t. You told me you wouldn’t, remember? Unless I came away with you.’

  ‘I lied.’ His eyes glowed when they met hers. ‘I lied to get what I wanted—you. I leveraged what I could, knowing that you would do anything for your cousin.’

  She gaped, none of it making sense.

  ‘This is the man you think you love. This is what I’m capable of.’

  She lifted her fingers to her lips, shaking her head. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t risk that you wouldn’t agree. Not because I love you, but because I wanted you, and I succeed at all costs, always.’

  She ignored his admission and the wounds it inflicted. ‘I mean, why did you buy such a huge share of the hedge fund? I know it wasn’t altruism. And if it wasn’t for me, then what was it?’

  He shifted his eyes above her head for a moment then pinned her with a steely glance. ‘Your cousin is sitting on a gold mine and he doesn’t yet realise it. The five hundred million pounds I spent will be worth a billion by the end of the year, easily.’

  Her knees felt weak. ‘What?’ It was hoarse. Soft. So soft it was almost inaudible, but he heard because he replied.

  ‘When it comes to business, if not people, I do my research. I knew what he had that night in the restaurant. You were always just a silver lining to that deal. I don’t let business and pleasure get mixed up.’

  She closed her eyes, wanting to blot out the world, but he was relentless.

  ‘See? You do not love me, right? How could you?’

  Her heart splintered for him because she saw the truth so clearly now—the little boy who’d grown into a man who believed all he had to offer was money. Who believed that maybe his mother would have loved him more if she could have seen the wealth he’d amassed. A man who ended things with women before they could walk out on him.

  ‘In spite of this, I love you. In spite of the fact I am hurt, and feel betrayed and used and cheap, I still love you.’ She bit down on her lip, the truth of her words etching into her. Saying it was so liberating, so freeing.

  ‘And yet you knew I would never love you back.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, her eyes haunted.

  ‘Yes. I have told you exactly what kind of man I am, what I’m capable of, and you ignored that.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I know what you’ve said about yourself, but I see you as you really are. I see someone you don’t even know is there.’ She lifted her chin defiantly, her body tense with pride even when her heart was in shreds.

  But he shook his head, denying that. ‘You only think you do.’

  ‘Cesare...’ She sighed softly. ‘You’ve spent a lifetime trying to outrun your roots. You think that if you work harder, make more money, fill your bank account, your asset list or whatever, that you’ll finally feel okay? That you’ll feel whole?’

  She stared him down and saw the shift in his expression, the hardening in his eyes, and she knew he wasn’t going to listen to her, that no matter what she said he was determined to stay the course.

  ‘Why did you get your tattoo?’ she pushed. ‘Come sono—“as I am”.’ His surprise was obvious. ‘You are as you are and I love you as you are.’ She waved a hand around the magnificent beach house. ‘None of this matters to me. There’s an inherent value in you, just you, and I see it even if you don’t.’

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘You’re wrong about me.’

  ‘No, I’m not. You’re a good man—’

  ‘I mean you’re wrong to think I’m broken in some way, or that I don’t feel whole. I live my life the way I choose. I do what I want.’

  ‘And that’s not me.’

  He swept his eyes shut.

  ‘I don’t mean for a month,’ she added quickly. ‘I mean for ever.’

  He fixed her with a cool gaze, as though this were easy for him. ‘No, Jemima. I could lie to you right now and pretend, just to get more time with you, but I won’t do that. This is what I’m offering—the decision is yours.’

  She nodded, anguish making her face pale.

  ‘It’s not a decision,’ she whispered. ‘I have to go. I can’t stay.’

  Neither of them moved or spoke for several seconds, and then she said again more urgently, because she felt as though she were suffocating, ‘I have to go, Cesare, please.’

  But he shook his head, disbelief etched in his features. ‘No.’

  Her laugh was dry, lacking any humour. ‘You just said it was my decision.’

  ‘Stay a week,’ he implored, his voice thick. ‘Same terms. All your debts disappear.’

  She sobbed. ‘Don’t.’ She lifted a finger to his lips. ‘You aren’t this man.’

  He stared into her eyes.

  ‘You aren’t this man, and I’m not that woman,’ she insisted. ‘You’re so much better than this.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HE WAS CONSCIOUS of the date from the moment he opened his eyes. Four weeks to the day after Jemima had walked out of his life, he woke to the realisation this should have been the day they ended it. If she’d agreed to his proposition, then they’d have been together this whole time.

  Instead, he’d acceded to her wishes, knowing it was the right thing to do even when every fibre of his being had wanted to insist she finish the fortnight, just as she’d promised; that she give him one more night. Instead, he’d flown her by helicopter to the mainland and had his jet fuelled up to take her back to England. He hadn’t travelled with her. It would have felt like prolonging the inevitable.

  Besides, she’d barely been able to look at him at the end.

  So much for love.

  Was it love that could make you push someone away like this?

  He stared out at the lake, still as anything, with a mystical layer of fog hovering just above the water on this cool early autumnal morning, a scowl on his face as he relived every moment of that last day. Her face pinched and uncertain, her eyes so filled with hurt and disappointment, and worst of all, his inability to say or do anything to fix it.

  For the first time in his adult life, Cesare Durante had been without adequate words. He’d wanted to reassure her even when he knew he couldn’t—because what could he offer her? Not love.

  And that was all she’d wanted. She’d been very clear.

  With a sound of frustration, he pushed up from the deck chair, moving into the old log cabin. The morning was cool, but he wore low-riding jeans. No top. He liked the cold. He was glad of it. Glad of the rush it gave his blood, as well as the feeling of being alive, alive in a way he seemed to crave these days.

  He made a coffee, thick and black, and poured it into one of the enamel cups his Alaskan cabin had come furnished with.

  He drank it quickly, then turned his gaze back to the lake.

  He needed to run. To run faster than he had the day before. He hadn’t been able to outrun his thoughts then, but maybe today? Pausing only to pull on a crisp white shirt and a pair of joggers, he shouldered out of the door and set off around the lake.

  He couldn’t outrun her. She was a fog in his brain, filling his mind, taking over his every thought. Except it wasn’t her. It wasn’t Jemima so much as the fact he knew how wrong he’d been, and he hated that. He hated knowing he’d been at fault, and worse that he’d hurt her. He’d lied to her to get her to agree to be his mistress. He’d blackmailed her with her cousin’s future and wellbeing. Then he’d tried to blackmail her all over again, just for good measure.

  His behaviour had been deplorable.

  He growled and ran faster...thud, thud, thud. A twig cracked beneath his foot. He kept running, his head bent
low. He ran and he ran and he didn’t look where he was going so that he was almost on top of the grizzly bear when he saw it.

  He froze, his pulse firing up a notch, his instincts kicking in. Adrenalin sent a metallic taste into his mouth and his eyes flew wide. The bear was eating a fish, ripping it in half, but as Cesare stood there the grizzly turned its formidable head, its dark-brown eyes turning to study him.

  He was metres away from a beast that was more than capable of ripping him to shreds. He should run. Retreat. Do something. Anything.

  Save himself.

  He didn’t. He stared at the bear, his expression grim, and not particularly sure he cared what the hell happened to his pathetic excuse for a life. He stared at the bear and saw himself, saw himself clearly. He saw the path he was on, the life he was willingly choosing, and he almost willed the bear to come at him.

  Because there was surely no point to life if you lived it as he did?

  The thought was brief and fleeting and completely startling. He stared at the bear, the bear stared back and then, remarkably, it shrugged its shoulders, turned and began to thump heavily away in the opposite direction.

  Cesare stood perfectly still, watching the bear go, no longer willing to be his quarry. He stared at the bear’s retreat and a new sense of purpose filled him.

  ‘Come on, Jem. You’re all dressed up. You can’t bail now.’

  Jemima eyed Laurence without reacting. He was right. In the suite of this fine London hotel, in a vintage gown she’d fallen in love with years ago, she knew she couldn’t let Laurence down. Even when all she wanted to do was curl up on the huge bed and stare at the wall.

  Just as she’d been doing for five weeks.

  Five weeks?

  It felt like five years.

  When Cam had died, someone had told her that time healed all wounds, and she’d clung to that as a child. She’d truly believed that she might feel less pain as time went on. And in some ways, she had. She thought of her brother every day, she wondered what his life would have been like if he’d lived, but she didn’t cry like she used to. Now, she thought of him with a smile, remembering all the ways he’d made her laugh.