"Relax, cara, she's being watched by us, just in case. Nothing is going to happen to her or any of the Giovanni. Marco knows of the danger, and he's no fool. The rest of the family may not be involved in this, but they still have connections. And who would take on Mamma G?" He winked at her, and some of her anxiety fled.
Her lips twitched imagining the formidable head of the Giovanni Clan in full protective battle mode. She could bring full grown men to their knees with just one look. How effective that look would be against armed goons, she wasn't too sure, but Giorgio's tactic had worked.
"Oh, thank God." Jemima closed her eyes. Relief and gratitude warred with nervousness, as Giorgio pulled her closer, so close his breath raised the fine hair on her neck.
"Open your eyes, cara."
She swallowed at his closeness, wishing she had the guts to just lean in and kiss him, but something in his eyes stopped her. An urgency which took her breath away, while sending icy tendrils of uneasiness down her spine.
Movement outside her door made him flinch, and his voice was an urgent whisper in her ear.
"You and I, we're going to play a game, cara. And you best play it well, because your life depends on it. As my wife you're under my protection, but the Don doesn't trust you, so we will have to play this well and look convincing. Whatever happens, follow my lead."
And just as the door flung open, his mouth descended on hers, and Jemima stopped breathing altogether.
Chapter Eight
Flames licked across Jemima's skin, and her blood rushed through her veins like molten lava. Desire consumed her, every molecule of her set alight by the feel and smell of Giorgio. He groaned as he deepened the kiss. His hands fisted in her hair, and his tongue danced with hers, igniting a primal need so strong, all fear evaporated in the heat emanating from his firm lips.
"Giorgio, let the poor girl come up for air."
The coolly amused, female voice broke through the haze of Jemima's desire, and Giorgio froze. His hands tightened painfully in her hair before he released her. His breathing heavy, his eyes held a silent warning.
"I take it from that display that your wife has recovered?"
The dulcet tones held a definite edge to them this time, and Jemima risked a glance in the direction of all that censure. Intelligent blue eyes were assessing her, and the advert for Italian chic and understated middle-aged beauty angled her head, eyes narrowing, when her gaze roamed over Giorgio instead.
"You look like hell, boy. Be off with you, make yourself presentable, and leave your girl to me."
"I don't think so, Giada." Giorgio shook his head, and took one of Jemima's hands in his. "I already had this conversation. I'm not leaving her."
"You're no good to her like that either, boy. I'm not Luigi. You know I'm always on your side, but this is not helping her, or you."
Again that penetrating blue gaze rested on Jemima, and she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that the woman in front of them could see right through her. She recognized another Italian Mamma when she saw one, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, looking to Giorgio for reassurance.
"Giorgio? Who is this?"
Before he could respond Giada had crossed the distance to the bed Jemima was huddling on, and extended one heavily jeweled hand.
"Giada Carbanisi, Luigi's long-suffering wife, and you're Jemima, right?"
At Jemima's hesitant nod, she retracted her hand with another amused smile. "I had to come and see who had my menfolk in such a tizzy. And you look as though you could do with some female company, not overbearing males making demands on you!" She shot a challenging look to Giorgio, and Jemima noticed the slight flush on his high cheekbones with a stab of astonishment.
"I wasn't making demands, Giada. I was just—"
"Just what, boy? Pull the other one. How long have I known you? I get it, I do, but she has been through one hell of an ordeal, and what that girl needs right now is a nice hot bath, followed by a massage to get those kinks out. Everything hurts, right?" She glanced back at Jemima with a sympathetic smile. "So, I tell you what I told Luigi. Butt out, let her recover, and leave her to me."
She put a hand up to stop Giorgio's immediate protest.
"I have already told Alfonso to beat it. Where Luigi expects her to get to is beyond me. And you're no use to her in this state either. So shoo. It's your goddaughter's birthday party this afternoon, lest you've forgotten, and you'll scare her silly looking like this."
She raised one eyebrow at the Italian curse muttered in response. "And there is no need for that language either, boy."
"Si, scusi, but—"
"No buts, get some rest, have a wash, change. We'll meet you at the party. I promise you won't recognize her once I'm done with her."
The smile that accompanied those words was positively mischievous, and Jemima relaxed marginally. Amusement bubbled up through the niggling worry, at the put out look Giorgio wore just then. Who'd have thought the great Giorgio would be put in his place by a five foot nothing female?
"Do I even get a choice?"
"None whatsoever, boy. There is the door. Make sure you shut it on the way out."
Giada locked eyes with the man towering over them both, and with another muttered curse, Giorgio shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He bent down to brush a feather light kiss across Jemima's lips, and with one last brooding look of hurt, male pride he was gone.
Silence descended on the opulent room like a suffocating blanket, and Jemima's heartbeat sped up again, when one small hand cupped her chin to make her look into crystal blue eyes, drawn together in a frown.
"They say you have amnesia. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"How convenient, for you. Not so much for anyone else, is it?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Jemima inched up the bed a bit, moaning at the wave of pain from her ribs as she did so, all too aware of those eyes still assessing her.
"You should know I am very fond of Giorgio, and anyone who hurts him or my husband's interests tends to … well … let's just say it's not conducive to one's health. But then you have found that out already."
Jemima swallowed nervously at the barely concealed threat and the steel in those eyes, still boring through her.
"Trust me, if I remembered anything of worth I would tell him."
Giada's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Hmm trust, si. Trust is earned, is it not? Why should I trust you? My husband doesn't. In fact, if it wasn't for Giorgio's unexpected attachment to you…"
"I wouldn't be here, right." Jemima interrupted her, sudden anger spurring her on. "As if I would want to be. Who in their right mind would want to be caught up in all this … this nightmare? I didn't even know Giorgio was involved in all of this, until I woke up in that hospital bed. He should have just left me there."
Her voice broke on the last few words, and she resolutely blinked the tears away. Stop being such a goddamn watering pot, girl. This isn't helping anything.
Giada smiled thoughtfully, her gaze resting on the huge diamond ring on Jemima's hand, and her next words made Jemima's head come up in surprise.
"Last time I saw that ring was on my best friend's hand."
"You knew Giorgio's mother?"
"Si, I did. He is my godson, and when Annamaria died in that crash, Luigi and I tried our best to look after him. Beppe Giovanni did not make it easy." Her delicate features tightened in disapproval for just an instant, before her chilly smile made Jemima flinch. "Of course, he eventually drank himself to death with his whores. He was always the bad sheep of the Giovanni. Every family has one, after all, and for a while Giorgio looked all set to follow."
"But he didn't?" Jemima held her breath, intrigued beyond belief at this sudden insight into his past. A past he never spoke of. How she could be so sure of that, Jemima didn't know. The knowledge was just there, sitting on her heart, like a dead weight.
"No, he didn't. Luigi wouldn't let him, and neither would I. He threw himself
into the business instead and made Giovanni wines what they are now. His only commitment has been to that vineyard." Giada smiled again, one finger tapping that ring. "Until now, that is, and I can't help wondering why?"
Jemima ignored that question. Something else bothered her far more.
"So, he isn't … I mean he's not one of … hell."
"Giorgio is family in every sense of the word. You do not opt out of this, Jemima, and when one marries into the family there is no get out clause, ever. Which again makes me wonder why you? Especially, as you ran out on him back then."
"You know about that?"
The harsh laugh made her wince.
"Of course I do, my dear. Who do you think was there for him when you did? And stopped Luigi from ending this right then?"
Jemima swallowed nervously again at the steel and condemnation in those words.
"I … I wasn't thinking clearly then, but I did the only thing I could. I was no good for him, and I tried to fix it, I really did. I was putting the recipe back, when he found me."
Blue eyes widened in astonishment, and Jemima pushed on. Getting her to understand was suddenly of the utmost importance. This woman was the closest Giorgio had to a mother; she had to know what really happened. Maybe then Giorgio would believe her, too?
"I mean, I was going to steal it. They offered me a lot of money and I needed it, but I … couldn't do that to him. Not once I got to know him, so I put it back, but he caught me and, well … I had to leave. I was leaving anyway. I had to. I had no choice. They were going to … they threatened to…"
The sound of disgust coming from Giada made her shiver. She didn't believe her; of course she didn't. Giorgio hadn't either. Why would they, when she couldn't even explain her actions to herself? She had been such a foolish, stupid girl, thinking the world owed her, and she could do anything and damn the consequences.
"Who are they, Jemima?"
Giada's cool voice interrupted her silent anguish. She handed her a crisp, white handkerchief to dry her tears.
"Eastern European, that's all I can remember. Their contact was French. He was so charming to start with, interested in my art, and then when I wouldn't do what they wanted me to, well …"
Jemima's voice failed her again, remembering the fists all too well, her despair at her own stupidity and blind belief that she could outwit them all, jumping at the get out offered to her. Seduce the local vineyard owner, steal his secrets, and she would be free. Only she was never going to be free, was she? And then when one of the Frenchman's friends had been there, at the party, and she woke up in his bed the next day… She still couldn't believe she had cheated on Giorgio like that. They'd had their first row, and she'd stormed off; but why on earth had she ended up with him? Yet, the pictures he'd thrown at her days later had been undeniable proof of her guilt, and another nail in the coffin of any hope of making her marriage work.
"You foolish girl."
Giada shook her head at her.
"Let me guess, Giorgio was the solution, and when you didn't deliver…"
The curse following her whispered acknowledgement put Giorgio's earlier one to shame.
"Dio Santo, where was your family through all this?
"I only have a sister, and she didn't know. I thought I could handle it. She bailed me out often enough."
"Does Giorgio know any of this?"
"No, and I don't want him to either. Please, you mustn't tell him. Let him think I just cheated on him. It's better that way."
Jemima grabbed both of Giada's hands in an effort to make her understand, and the older woman pulled her into an unexpected hug. "Why ever not? He has a right to know."
"No, please don't. He'd … I don't want him to think of me doing … being … he thinks so little of me as is it is." Jemima clamped her hand on her mouth in shock at what she had just admitted, dread filling her anew. "I mean, he … oh hell!"
"I see." One cool hand lifted her chin again, and Jemima held her breath, waiting for the condemnation she was sure must follow. Giada's gaze burned through every one of her fragile defenses, until she felt utterly exposed with nowhere to go.
"You love him that much?"
Jemima must have managed to nod, because the Don's wife smiled almost to herself and murmured something in Italian.
"Well, in that case, we best get you looking the part." And she jumped up, and pulled Jemima off the bed. She gave her a gentle shove towards the en-suite bathroom. "First stop, bath, then massage, and then we will have to find you something decent to wear. You'll be scaring my granddaughter, too, at this rate, and by heavens, that girl is impressionable enough as it is. Just like her mother. I do wonder what I ever did wrong in a previous life, sometimes, to be blessed with such wayward daughters."
She carried on chattering away, her smile bright, and manner friendly, and Jemima felt herself relax. The luxurious bubble bath was to die for, and the massage was simply heaven. The young girl doing it was ever so careful to not aggravate her injuries. When at last, Jemima was primped and prodded to within an inch of her life, the person staring back at her from the mirror was the epitome of cool, sophisticated elegance. The light summer suit accentuated the few curves she had left. Her usually unruly hair had been tamed into a chic up-do, and the understated make-up covered the few leftover bruises. She had to admit to herself, she'd never looked better. If Elise could see me now…
Giada smiled her approval, when she emerged out of her room.
"Now that's better. You may just convince the family that this farce of a marriage is real."
Jemima's stomach dropped to the elegant court shoes she was wearing, and startled out of her momentary peace, she sought Giada's suddenly icy gaze.
"For your sake I hope you do, and mark my words. Luigi will be the last of your worries if you hurt that boy again!"
Chapter Nine
Gah, is my heart ever going to beat normally again?
Since Giada had escorted her out into the buzzing courtyard, Jemima's breathing and heart-rate had yet to return to anything even remotely resembling a healthy tempo. She'd been ill prepared to find Giorgio surrounded by a gaggle of six year old girls, who were taking it in turns to take rides on his back. She'd dragged her heels getting closer, bur Giada's insistent hand on her back had given her little choice. By the time she'd reached the little group, she'd wanted the ground to swallow her up, as all attention focused on her. Giorgio had extricated himself gently from the little girl, looking up at her with huge brown eyes, and Jemima's heart had clenched painfully at the affectionate smile he'd bestowed on his goddaughter, before it almost jumped out of her chest when his gaze roamed over her.
He'd changed into chino cotton trousers, emphasizing his lean hips and the muscles in his thighs, as he flexed to straighten. The white cotton shirt, rolled up to the elbows, showed strong, tanned forearms, the neck unbuttoned enough for her to see tantalizing glimpses of chest hair. But it was his eyes that had been her complete undoing. There was the barely concealed surprise, followed by such heat it was a miracle she hadn't self-combusted on the spot. She'd all but melted into his arms, at his whispered, "You look stunning, tesoro." He'd followed the words with a lazy smile and pulled her close enough to brush a kiss over her lips.
"Who is that, Zio Giorgio?" A child's high voice had broken the moment.
His goddaughter's eyes had been drawn into a frown, hands on hips, her cupid mouth pouting, and Giorgio had laughed, letting go of Jemima.
"This is Jemima, Maria. Remember I told you."
He'd stroked Maria's hair, and taking Jemima's hand in his, had turned toward the raven-haired beauty standing behind Maria—an identical, older, smiling version of her.
"Rita, let me introduce you to my wife. Jem, this is Giada's daughter, Rita."
The pressure on her fingers had become painful, and Jemima had extended her hand, only to be pulled into a tight embrace.
"So nice to meet you. I never thought he would settle down, but I can see why he
would, looking at you." And she'd proceeded to kiss her soundly on both cheeks. "Welcome to the family. I must introduce you to everyone." And before Jemima had managed to catch her breath, Rita had whisked her away.
Having been introduced to too many people to count, Jemima's cheeks were hurting from the forced smile she'd worn in an effort to play her part, ever mindful of Giada's watchful blue eyes on her. Thankfully Giorgio had been swallowed up by the ever increasing crowd of children. Jemima didn't think she could have coped with his eyes all over her, too.
The birthday party was in full swing now. Excited children ran about everywhere, the atmosphere jolly. Rita mercifully had abandoned her getting to know Jemima mission—too involved with making sure the party was running smoothly. Jemima breathed a sigh of relief. She was leaning against one of the pillars, trying to stay out of the way. All these children were making her nervous.
And that wasn't the only thing. Jemima squinted into the sun, taking in the high walls surrounding the Don's mansion. The steel of barely concealed weapons glinted in the sunlight every time the guards moved. She'd watched in complete astonishment earlier, when one of the burly men strategically placed at the entrance and exit points, had donned a bunny costume hidden behind one of the pillars and had then launched himself into the crowd. He was now performing magic tricks of all things. And if that hadn't been bizarre enough, she saw the stoic Alfonso surrounded by no less than four of his children, one hand resting protectively on the abdomen of his heavily pregnant wife, a huge grin on his face laughing at his youngest antics. Well, if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed it.
Shrieks of delight coming from the bouncy castle made her look across.
"Again, again!" Giorgio and Rita's husband, Antonio, were taking it in turns throwing children into the fairy castle, and it was hard to tell who was enjoying it more, the men or the children.
Too Devious to Tame (The Giovanni Clan) Page 6
