The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge

by Kate Walker

  ‘That’s what happens if you throw soaking-wet clothes in a corner and leave them there overnight.’

  Vito shrugged his lack of concern.

  ‘My T-shirt’s much the same after a night in the washer—and my jeans…’

  He waved a hand towards the open door into the bedroom, where the jeans he had discarded the night before were visible still on the floor beside the bed.

  ‘They might be OK to wear after being washed and ironed…’

  ‘But what am I going to wear until then?’

  It was a wail of despair, one that grated uncomfortably after the sensually leisurely lovemaking that had started their day, making him frown his disapproval.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it matters!’

  She really looked badly upset—over a few clothes?

  ‘It doesn’t to me.’

  He turned a warmly appreciative glance on her naked body. OK, so much of it was currently concealed behind the bundle of clothing she held, but he had had plenty of experience of just what the hidden bits were like, enough to give him some very pleasant memories.

  ‘I’m perfectly happy for you to stay that way all day,’ he drawled lazily.

  The remark earned him an unexpected flashing glare of reproof.

  ‘You might be, but I’m not! I can’t just provide a floor show for you all day.’

  ‘You certainly are not at your best in the mornings, are you?’

  With an effort Vito reined in the flare of temper that her unjust retort threatened to spark off.

  ‘Have you got out of the wrong side of the bed perhaps? That was not what I meant to say and you know it!’

  ‘I’m sorry!’

  She obviously made an effort to shake herself out of the irritated mood that had suddenly descended from nowhere.

  ‘But I do need something to wear.’

  ‘Well, that’s no problem. I got something out for you last night before we—got distracted. I left them on the chair by the bed.’

  The kettle boiled as he spoke and he turned to switch it off, pour the hot water on top of the coffee grounds in the waiting cafetière.

  Then he realised that Emily was standing beside him again and from the silence, something in the atmosphere, he knew that she still wasn’t content. Turning, he saw that the expression on her face confirmed as much.

  ‘Is this what you meant?’

  A wave of her hand indicated the navy T-shirt and boxer shorts that she had pulled on in double-quick time. When he nodded yes she frowned and shook her head.

  ‘What is it now?’ he sighed. If the truth was told, he thought the outfit rather appealing. The T-shirt hung loose on her slender frame but the soft material clung to the swell of her breasts, the curves of her hips, and the boxers revealed a welcome amount of the long, slender legs that had so recently been tangled up with his in the most satisfyingly intimate way. The clothes were perfectly adequate for drinking coffee in.

  After that he looked forward to peeling them off her again and taking her back to bed.

  ‘You look fine to me.’

  ‘But I can’t go out like this!’

  Out? That was unexpected and not at all welcome. Neither was the thought that she might, after all, be planning to leave.

  ‘Why would you want to go out?’

  ‘Vito, all my stuff—my handbag, my phone—it’s all in my car. And my car is over five minutes’ walk away down a public road. I can hardly go out there like this.’

  Once more she looked down at the clothes she was wearing, her mouth twisting wryly.

  So that was what was on her mind. The rush of relief at the thought that she wasn’t actually planning on leaving made his head spin. He hadn’t realised until now just how much he had relied on this not actually being a one-night stand. He didn’t do one-night stands and one night was definitely not long enough to grow tired of this particular woman.

  ‘Is that all? Non c’e problema! Just give me a moment and I’ll get some clothes on. Then I will go to your car and collect anything you want. You can start making breakfast while I’m gone.’

  Was she going to refuse? Just for a moment it had looked as if she would but then she obviously accepted that she had no other choice.

  ‘OK,’ she nodded, though the smile she had given him flashed on and off with all the speed of a neon sign, and about as much warmth.

  But out here in the brightness of the day, with the sea glinting in the sun and the prospect of the rest of the weekend ahead of them, none of that seemed to matter any more. Vito turned from his contemplation of the horizon and headed down the promenade towards where Emily’s small blue car was parked, the smile coming back to his mouth as he did so.

  In spite of her protestations of yesterday, she had stayed the night—and what a night—and she was still here for breakfast. He was damn sure he could make her stay for the rest of the weekend and in that time he would get her number, her address and—

  He stopped dead in amazement as realisation suddenly struck him.

  He still didn’t even know her surname. Emily was all she had ever said. Emily what? He would ask her first thing, as soon as he got back to the flat.

  And then he supposed that would mean that he’d have to explain the truth about himself too. It was a pity, as he’d enjoyed the freedom her not knowing had given him. He’d not had to wonder whether she was with him for himself or was the same sort of gold-digger Loretta had turned out to be.

  He was at the car now, bending to unlock the driver’s door. Emily had said that she’d pushed her handbag under the front passenger seat for safety and he could just see the thin black strap from here. Leaning forward, he caught hold of it, tugged, pulling it towards him.

  ‘Dannazione!’

  It was open, the narrow zip on the top unfastened, and the jerky movement had made several small items fall out. The comb and the lipstick case were easy to reach but he had to scrabble a bit to get hold of the phone. He was about to toss it into the bag with the other things when he noticed that it had been left switched on all night. He still had it in his hand when suddenly it started to ring. Automatically he thumbed it on.

  ‘Ciao?’

  There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line then a bemused and suspicious female voice said, ‘Who the hell is that? I thought this was Emily’s number.’

  ‘Oh, scusi,’ Vito hastened to apologise. ‘It is Emily’s phone. But I’m afraid that she is not here right now. Can I take a message for her?’

  The woman he was speaking to hesitated then sighed impatiently.

  ‘I suppose it will have to do. But can you make sure she gets this? It’s important.’

  ‘I’ll tell her as soon as I see her,’ Vito assured her and then listened intently to what the woman had to say.

  It changed his mood completely,

  His hand tightened on the small silver-coloured phone and he straightened up slowly, still listening. From this position he could see his own face reflected in the car’s wing mirror and as he watched he saw how his expression changed. Watched every last trace of the smile that had lingered on his mouth fade, leaving it stiff and tight and drawn into a hard, thin line. Watched the cold darkness enter his eyes and turn them into shards of black ice. He kept totally silent until the message was completed and then, when the unknown woman said, ‘You will tell her, won’t you?’ he nodded his head firmly even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said with freezing cold emphasis. ‘Yes, I’ll tell her. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets the message, you need have no doubt about that.’

  And as he snapped off the phone and headed back along the promenade towards the flat his expression was dark and grim—as dark and grim as the mood that had suddenly descended.

  He’d tell Emily all right—oh, yes, he’d make very, very sure that she got the message. And he was going to get a great deal of pleasure out of watching the way her face—her cheating, ly
ing, beautiful face—changed as she realised that he now knew the real truth about her.

  Emily pulled her jeans out of the tumble-drier and shook them hard, frowning as she did so. The movement smoothed them out a bit, but not much. They still looked terrible. And they were still very damp.

  Perhaps if she ironed them…

  If Vito possessed an iron, of course. She had hunted round the small kitchen but hadn’t been able to find one. She’d have to ask him when he got back.

  When he got back.

  How long did it take to walk a few hundred yards and grab a handbag?

  Tossing the jeans back into the drier for now—she could wear them creased if she had to, and she would probably have to—Emily paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides.

  She needed that bag—needed the phone that was in it. Ruth had promised that she would ring at ten-thirty and it was after quarter-past now. And Ruth was never late. In fact, if she had a fault it was that she was often too early, so putting people out by appearing or ringing before they were ready. But at least she’d switched off the phone before going onto the beach yesterday, so if Ruth did ring early then…

  Emily paused, pushing her hand through her hair as she frowned thoughtfully.

  She had switched it off, hadn’t she? She was sure she had.

  The sound of a key in the door pushed her into action.

  Make breakfast, Vito had said, and she didn’t want it to look as if she had spent the whole time he’d been out simply pacing up and down, even if she had. She had had no chance at all to explain the situation to him and she had no idea how he was going to react. She had a lot of explaining to do. She hadn’t even got as far as giving him her full name last night—they hadn’t exactly spent much time on introductions!

  Feeling red heat flare up over her face, she hurriedly swung away from the door, grabbing the cafetière of coffee that Vito had made before he’d gone out—coffee she hadn’t even touched—and dumping the contents in the sink, turning the tap with unnecessary force to swill it all away. Behind her she heard the door open, felt the faint rush of air, and knew that Vito had arrived.

  ‘Sorry about breakfast—I…got distracted.’

  She sounded far too airy and careless, unbelievably so. In her own ears it was obvious that she was covering something up and she nerved herself for the inevitable question about what was going on.

  To her surprise it didn’t come. Instead the silence behind her was so deep, so total, that for a moment she wondered if Vito had in fact appeared or if she had got it wrong and he’d not actually come into the kitchen yet.

  But a quick glance over her shoulder told her that he was there, in the doorway, one broad shoulder resting against the doorframe and his arms folded across his chest.

  ‘Do you want coffee now?’

  ‘OK.’

  It was curt, abrupt. So abrupt that it had her swinging round to face him. And immediately a feeling of unease made a sensation like the flutter of hundreds of butterfly wings start up in the pit of her stomach.

  This wasn’t the same man who had set out to fetch her handbag just ten minutes or so before. Then he had been easy-going, calm, even smiling. Now he was a withdrawn, cold-eyed stranger. That stance, with the long, powerful body leaning against the door, might look relaxed but she could see a stiffness about the way he held himself that told a very different story. Those arms were folded just a little too tightly and the sexy mouth was clamped shut, his jaw clenched, as if he was holding back something ominous.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Vito returned her scrutiny with a level stare, one that held no warmth, not even a light in the deep grey eyes.

  ‘Why? Is there anything you’re expecting to go wrong?

  ‘N-no, but—did you get my handbag?’

  The feeling of uncertainty made her voice jump unevenly. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to find her bag and that was what the problem was. Had someone broken into her car—taken her things from it? Or perhaps they had stolen the car itself.

  But then Vito unfolded his arms and picked up the black leather handbag that had been lying on the floor at his feet, lifting it so that it dangled in his grip, looking absurdly small against the size of the hand that held it.

  ‘Oh, great!’

  She’d grabbed at it before she thought that she was giving herself away. The zip was partially open and she only had to push it back a little way to check that the phone was there and—yes—it was switched off. She’d have to switch it back on again soon if…

  ‘Everything’s still there.’ Vito’s voice intruded into her thoughts. At least, she knew it was Vito’s voice. It came from where he was standing and she saw his lips move. But it wasn’t the voice she remembered. It wasn’t the voice of the man that she had met yesterday, the stunning, sexy Sicilian who had rescued her and then charmed her into his bed. And it wasn’t the voice that had whispered to her in the night, that had enticed her to stay, told her she was beautiful, and finally had called out her name as he lost himself in the moment of ecstasy.

  This voice was cold, like his eyes; cold and dangerous.

  ‘Of course it is.’

  She tried a smile but saw no answering lightness in his face, no change in that dark, blank stare.

  ‘Thank you!’

  Another smile, and again no reaction. On an impulse she moved forward, pressed a kiss against his mouth. Surely that would lighten his mood. Surely he would respond…

  But Vito didn’t. Instead her lips came up against the hard, unyielding tightness of his mouth, almost bruising her against the force of his rejection so that she put up her hand to cover her lips, trying to soothe the unexpected hurt.

  ‘Vito…’

  ‘Emilia…’ It was a cynical, dark-toned echoing of her own voice, no trace of warmth or friendliness in the sound. ‘Don’t you think you have something you should be telling me?’

  ‘I do?’

  Vito just nodded his dark head slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the pallor of her face. It was as if in the time that he had been outside, the man she had known as Vito had been taken out of his body and a new and totally different personality had been implanted in it.

  She didn’t know what he wanted and the clock on the kitchen wall was slowly ticking away the fifteen minutes she’d had before the phone call was due. There were only five of them left now and…

  And then it dawned on her.

  Of course. The handbag. She had asked him to fetch her bag and it had all her personal things in it—her purse, her credit cards, her driver’s licence, all in the name of…

  ‘I never introduced myself properly last night.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  There was a strange emphasis on the words, a dark and worrying one. She might even have said there was an edge of menace in it but that sounded fanciful and over-dramatic. Probably she was just so badly on edge that she had put too much into the sound.

  ‘You—you gave me your full name and I never actually got around to telling you mine.’

  She glanced at him as the words died away, looking for some response or at least an inclination of his head, a nod, anything to indicate that he had heard. That he was listening to her and was open to what she was saying.

  But there was nothing. Just that same dark, opaque-eyed stare that reminded her of the eyes in a carved marble statue, blank and unrevealing, in a way that dried her mouth in apprehension to see it.

  ‘I—I’m Emily Lawton.’

  Foolishly—ridiculously—impossibly after all that had passed between them in the night, she held out her hand to him as if it were the first time they had met. Vito’s dark eyes followed the gesture and one corner of his mouth quirked up in what might have been a smile. But when his eyes met Emily’s once again, the hard black depths she looked into told her that there had been no warmth in the reaction at all. Instead it was a brutally cynical response, dismissing her attempt at conta
ct.

  ‘So you’re Emily Lawton,’ he said at last, and the contempt in his voice seemed to sear over her skin, scouring off a much needed protective layer, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. ‘Well, I wish I could say that it was nice to meet you but I’m afraid that would be a lie.’

  ‘What?’

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or the hateful, goading way it was spoken.

  ‘It would be a lie because that isn’t really your name, is it?’

  ‘It isn’t…?’

  She couldn’t find the strength of mind to follow what he was saying. It didn’t make any sense. He was talking in riddles.

  What had happened? Dear God, what could have happened in the ten minutes or so that he had been outside to turn him from the ardent, passionate lover of the night into the iceman of today?

  ‘Vito—please! I don’t understand.’

  She couldn’t help herself, her hand came out, caught hold of his, curled her fingers around it. Surely the touch would break through whatever wall of anger and withdrawal had surrounded him so that she could reach him, speak to him, communicate with him at least. Surely he hadn’t forgotten about last night and the stunning fires of passion they had lit between them?

  But it seemed that he had. Forgotten or dismissed them totally from his thoughts, because he shook her hand off roughly, pulling away from it with an expression of such disgust that it seemed that he believed her touch might actually contaminate him. He hadn’t moved from his position in the doorway but it seemed to her that his long body had stiffened even more, held firmly away from her so that he appeared more distant than ever.

  And she couldn’t find a way to reach him.

  ‘Vito, what is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘I believe the English expression is, you tell me.’

  ‘But I’ve nothing to tell.’

  ‘No?’

  Sharp as a bullet and, from the way that she felt the impact of his scorn, almost as deadly.

  ‘Are you sure?’