by Anna Cleary
‘Hi.’ If only she could sound normal, not be so conscious of her breasts, despite their heavy-duty shield, she could deal with him. Fear of blushing prevented her from looking at her mother, but she still felt the heat rise through her neck and ears.
She said breathless, useless, stilted things.
‘Well, er-Alessandro, how are you?’
‘Fine. And yourself?’
‘Fine, fine. Did you…did you have any trouble finding the house?’
‘None whatsoever. I have the-what do you call it here?-GPS.’
She saw him glance at her mother, and said quickly, ‘This is my mother,’ then turned to Greta to explain-as if it could be explained that the big boss of the company had headed straight to her house on his first night in Sydney-‘Alessandro has come to-to manage Stiletto. He-he wants to ask some questions about the company.’
She blushed outright then at the unlikeliness of it, and with mixed emotions saw Alessandro take her mother’s hand and say in his beautiful accent, ‘It is charming to meet you, Signora Meadows.’
Though her mother’s response was restrained, Lara could tell she was ravished to her kneecaps. And absolutely undeceived.
Lara threw him a sardonic glance, knowing he was fully aware of the effects of his high-voltage courtesy on Australian women, and his dark gaze met hers with bland inscrutability. Before her mother could start inviting him to dinner and making offers of accommodation, Lara cut in, ‘Oh, goodness, Mum, I’ve just thought. Would you mind going upstairs to-to make sure I turned the iron off?’
Greta looked startled, but Lara tweaked her sleeve and added, ‘Just to make sure everything’s all right up there, please, dear. If you wouldn’t mind?’
Greta’s eyes lit with comprehension. ‘Certainly dear. Of course. We don’t want to set fire to anything. Bring Alessandro inside out of this chilly air.’
Lara waited until her mother was out of earshot, then said in a low voice, ‘Well, I did tell you not to come, but since you’re here now, what is it?’
His glance assessed her and pierced straight through her defences. Her vest might as well have been made from gauze. ‘Relax, bambina. Let’s not keep up this pretence we aren’t pleased to see each other. Have you had dinner?’
She folded her arms in front of her. ‘You’re kidding yourself there. Why would I want to see someone who’s a cold, arrogant-?’ She broke off, unwilling to frame the word.
He smiled, and it lit his eyes, his whole face, with warmth. ‘Bastard is the word you’re looking for. For the same reason I might want to see someone who’s a defensive little liar.’
Her insides lurched in shock. What did he mean? Had he heard something about Vivi already? Then she saw that his eyes were still smiling and her heart dropped back into its niche. ‘Anyway,’ she said quickly to ease over her scare, ‘we’ve already-we’ve had dinner.’
He looked surprised. ‘So early?’ He paused a second, as if perhaps waiting for Greta’s invitation to be reissued. She felt slightly ashamed to have to be so inhospitable, when his manners were usually so excellent. When she said nothing he tilted his head towards the end of the street. ‘I noticed a brasserie somewhere along there. Come, then, we’ll have a glass of wine.’
Truly, after the way he’d treated her at work, he had a nerve. It had clearly never occurred to him that she might refuse. And to be honest, it didn’t seriously occur to her. Despite all her fears and anxieties, it was abundantly clear that the moment of revelation had arrived and there was no avoiding it.
At least he’d decided to abandon hostilities. For the conversation she had churning around in her mind the atmosphere needed to be calm. Pleasant. Rational.
As she would be, once her heart had slowed down a little. Once the wild old excitement in her veins had stopped its seething. Was it so weak of her to relish the rare heady pleasure of being seen in public with a stunningly attractive man? She felt sure any woman who’d pushed a pram single-handedly would appreciate the allure of it.
Praying fervently that the man-rich air hosties who lived across the street were watching through their front windows, she unhooked her jacket from the stand inside the door and slipped it on.
He was standing outside the gate, gazing interestedly around at the neighbourhood.
She closed the gate behind her and he cast her a dark, inviting glance that thrilled through her like ocean spray. She walked along the street with him, under the bare trees and the old street lamps, past the rows of terraces with the minuscule front gardens inside their iron railings, trying not to show how she savoured every rare, precious step.
How she’d dreamed of this. How many times had she pushed the stroller to the shops and fantasised that her lover would come back for her and his little girl?
He adjusted his long strides to hers on the uneven pavement, just as he had the last time he’d been in Sydney. He was a true Venetian, he’d explained to her then. Walking around cities was one of his favourite pastimes. This was how it had all started, those magic walks.
That time came back to her then with such a powerful intensity, she felt quite tremulous and emotional. Occasionally the back of his hand, his shoulder, his hip made an accidental contact with hers, and the joyous old electricity shivered through her. She made herself widen the distance between them, glanced up at the cold night sky as if the distant Milky Way could distract her, not that it was visible in the glare of the city lights, but her desperate flesh yearned for more of those delicious little brushes.
She’d lived like a nun for too long, that was the trouble. It had weakened her defences against tall, handsome Italians with smiling eyes. But she needed to keep her head. Whatever she said tonight would be inscribed in stone for keeps.
His dark gaze captured hers. ‘I am surprised to see you’re still living with your parents. I thought-isn’t Bindinong in the Blue Mountains?’
She nodded. ‘After Dad died Mum and I moved to Sydney.’
He stopped in the middle of the pavement. ‘You’ve lost your father. I’m so sorry to hear that. Was this an illness? Or…?’
‘No, no. He-he died in a bushfire. It was that really hot summer.’ She glanced quickly away from him, the words drying on her tongue. She couldn’t tell him so bluntly, not like this, and open it all up again. She drew in a breath, and finished curtly. ‘Their house burned down. We lost-just about everything. Afterwards, Mum wanted to start life afresh in another place.’
‘Per carità.’ He looked genuinely shocked, and stood shaking his head in dismay. ‘But that’s a terrible tragedy.’ Gazing at her with concern, he touched her cheek with his knuckle.
It was only a light touch, but tender. As always when the disaster was mentioned and someone showed sympathy her throat thickened. She lowered her swimming gaze and quickly turned away. Tempted again to spill all of it at once, make a dent in his smooth armour, she drew breath to speak. Then she remembered his coldness earlier, his mockery, and thought better of it. Enough that it had happened when it had happened.
There was no point telling the man who’d married someone else how the family tragedy had interfered with her plans to be with him. Why whip him with it just to leave herself exposed?
And she had something more precious to lose than mere pride.
As if in mockery of her inner struggle, he took her arms in his strong, gentle grip. ‘I am so sorry about your father, Larissa.’
Her senses plunged into uproar. Oh, the temptation to melt against him and soak up the comfort of his arms. With his use of the affectionate name he used to call her, his dark eyes glowing with such genuine concern, he was almost the sincere, charming man she’d fallen in love with.
He could do that so well, her brain reminded itself, make a woman believe he cared, such beautiful manners, while on another level some primitive part of her was alive to something else in those dark eyes. Some hot, fiery spark in their depths that had nothing to do with the conversation.
Her heart skipped up a ge
ar. A kiss was in the offing. More than a kiss. If she once glanced at his mouth, it would happen, the moment would intensify, and then…
‘It was a-a tragedy,’ she acknowledged, stiff in her effort not to let her eyes stray. ‘But Mum and I got through it. We had each other. We had-good things to live for,’ she added hoarsely, disengaging herself in time.
Was he aware of the galloping vibrations, her voice, the sudden tension? He walked silently for a few metres, then gave her a long, subtle glance, brimming with sensuality, his gorgeous sexy mouth not quite edging up at the corners, and her insides did a slow flip.
He knew. Of course he knew.
They turned the street corner into the main shopping precinct. As always any time of the day or night, Newtown was humming with its own offbeat energy. Patrons thronged the bars and theatres, spilled onto the pavement from the multicultural mix of cafés, protected from the chill night air by clear plastic walls, while late shoppers still lingered at the delis and the organic green co-op. In the doorway of the Friends’ Design Gallery, a dreadlocked man with a sax sat before a brazier playing ‘Unchained Melody’, in competition with the sound of bouzoukis issuing from the Greek restaurant further along the street.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and hugged the coat to herself. She wasn’t so aware of being cold. Nerves and the excitement of being out in the night air were making her tremble on the inside of her skin. Or perhaps it was what she had to tell him.
She hoped he was in a mood for revelations.
The brasserie had awnings on the windows and a softly lit bar at one end, with tall bar stools and a couple of tables in inviting little alcoves with plush banquette seats. Logs blazed in a giant fireplace set into the middle of the floor, screening most of the bar area from the main restaurant. It was inviting, and in one of the alcoves a group lingered over their pre-dinner drinks, soaking up the warmth.
Alessandro steered her to the other table. She slipped off her coat and sat down, and he slid into the seat at right angles to hers. He picked up the wine list, and with a glance at her edged a little closer so she could examine it with him. She scanned the list, aware of feeling the heat from his body, intensely conscious of their arms touching, his ribs just a few inches away from hers.
The bartender was doubling as waiter in the restaurant, so they had plenty of time for consultation. Not that she knew anything about wine, and throughout the discussion she sensed another kind of communication between her and Alessandro that kept her heart drumming. Made her careful to avoid too much eye contact.
Eventually the waiter materialised and Alessandro ordered a merlot, then lounged back against the banquette, his eyes making occasional flickering glances to her face and hands, lingering on her throat. She’d rarely felt more conscious of her body. Was it like this for everyone who met an ex-lover? Once having been activated, were those old triggers for ever present and at risk of causing their owners to burst into flame?
When the rich crimson wine was before them, he clinked glasses with hers.
‘Salute.’
She met his eyes, and they were veiled, with golden shimmers of heat in their dark depths that she recognised with a deep pang of response. His movements were measured, his mouth relaxed, and so stirringly sensual and evocative of past pleasures, she had to lower her gaze.
This was how he’d looked before, when love was on the menu. When he’d been confident of her. He was at his most devastating, but it was important she keep command of herself. Not allow herself to be seduced.
She thought of Vivi. How warm would he be when she told him?
He watched her take a sip, the firelight reflected in his eyes, then he angled his body a little further her way. ‘So fill me in on your little life. Is there a guy?’
The question sounded lazy, but despite his sleepy eyelids and relaxed tone there was a stillness in him as he awaited her response. It was tempting to lie, tease him a little. Pretend she was as desirable to other men as she’d once been to him. But how sad would that be? It had been her choice to lead the celibate life. The search for a partner was too hard. A series of uncles while she reviewed their qualifications was not what she’d planned for her daughter.
‘Not currently.’
His black brows lifted. ‘Why not?’
She swirled the wine in her glass, then sipped, welcoming its rich mellowness on her dry lips, aware of his glance drifting to her mouth. ‘Is there ever an answer to that question?’ She lowered her lashes, then looked up again, directly at him. ‘What about you? Is there a woman?’
He shook his head. ‘No woman in particular.’
‘But-you had a woman,’ she said silkily. ‘Your wife.’
He frowned down at the table. ‘For a very short time. That was-a mistake. We married each other for-reasons we shouldn’t have.’ He looked grim all of a sudden, and she felt a little flare of anger. The thought came to her, not for the first time, that he should never have married that woman. He’d belonged to her.
‘You must have already known her when you were here before,’ she said lightly. ‘With me.’
He gave a shrug. ‘Since childhood.’
She felt a sort of helplessness, imagining their intimacy, the shared experiences of long acquaintance. How could she ever have competed with that?
‘Did you tell her about-me?’
He met her gaze steadily. ‘Everything.’
‘And she still went ahead with the wedding?’
His eyelids flicked down, and she thought suddenly she would never understand. Never be able to guess how aristocratic Venetians and their wealthy connections thought about such things as love and marriage, and little flings on the side.
It cost her some pride, but she had to ask. ‘Did you love her?’
He scanned her face, his dark eyes glinting. ‘Whatever I say to that you will hold against me, one way or another.’
‘Then you did.’ She smiled, though it scraped her heart.
‘I’m beginning to feel flattered. What do you care?’
‘I don’t care,’ she said fiercely, her voice shaking all at once. She set down her glass with a snap.
Unexpectedly, he leaned over, tilted up her face and took her lips in a hot, hungry little kiss. The contact with his sensuous mouth was electrifying. While her mind reeled in shock, her parched lips responded to the delicious friction like the desert earth drinking in the rain. As he intensified the connection, gripping her with one lean hand on her ribs, fiery tingles set her mouth alight, and a hot, sweet, overwhelming rush of desire whooshed straight to her nipples.
She should have resisted, but he slipped his tongue inside her mouth with the clever old artistry, tangling it with hers and igniting the tender tissues inside. As his hot breath mingled with hers she could have swooned with all the fantastic sensations, not least being the inflammatory effects on her erotic imagination.
While the masculine taste and scent of him flooded her starved senses, her breasts warmed and strained against the fabric of her bra, all her erogenous zones bursting into vibrant, throbbing life.
Just when she was ready to climb on his lap, wrap herself around him and make the leap to the next steamy level, a background noise impinged on her ears, and, as if suddenly mindful of the place, Alessandro released her and they jolted apart.
Barely awake to the real world, she glanced about, but to her relief no one was in direct view, other drinkers having long vacated the bar, and the bartender/waiter busy in the restaurant. Hot, flushed and aroused, she turned a reproving glance on Alessandro, and felt scorched by the desire in his wolfish gaze.
Oh, God. Her racing heart started to thunder a warning. It was happening again. The most dangerously seductive man on the planet, and here he was, sweeping her along again, hypnotising her until her brain cells spun into cotton candy and her responsibilities all floated out the window.
Overloading her senses. Fogging her brain.
Wasn’t this the same pattern, unfolding just
as it had before?
A conversation. A pleasant walk. Those first light touches-the casual brushing of shoulders, hand to cheek, hand to hand. A soft stroke of her hair.
That first tender kiss.
Then the deeper kisses. The hotter, more passionate kisses. The wild, hungry, desperate kisses with the insane, thirsty cravings for skin contact…
The hotel room…Oh, God, the hotel room.
And then the obsession.
And this time, this time, he’d omitted some steps to jump straight in at hot and sexy. Except this time she had more than just herself to think about and she really did need to resist.
So how? With all she had to lose, how could she have allowed herself to succumb to his first move so easily?
She needed to be strong. Cool, tough and in control. Show him she wasn’t affected by his ploy, masterful though it had been.
She marvelled at the breathtaking ease with which he’d managed to transform the mood of the strained afternoon meeting from hostility to lust. And she’d plunged right in.
In an attempt to minimise her compliance, she fought to calm her breathing and gain control of her voice. With her blood still pulsing through her like a rapid river, she forced some brain cells to reassemble, and managed a croaky, ‘Look, Alessandro, what are you doing? Do you think you can just take up where you left off? I have a different life now, I’m a different person. You’re only here for a few days, and there is something I need to-’
His eyes darkened. He took her hands and it was like connecting to the power grid.
‘You taste the same.’
The warm, smooth grasp, the piercing, sensual gleam in his eyes played on her desire and weakened her resolve, but it was too confusing, arousing, and there was her pride. Only minutes before he’d been talking about his wife. And she couldn’t afford to take any more risks with her heart, not with Vivi to consider.
Vivi. She snatched her hands back.
‘Forget about my-taste’ She nearly gasped the word. ‘There’s something important I need to tell you.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And I can’t be late home. Mum’s working tonight.’
