by Heidi Rice
“I doubt it. She was the daughter of a British lord.”
“Then she’ll be buried at the non-Catholic cemetery.”
It was the last thing she had expected him to say. But she had to be grateful he hadn’t asked her questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Could you tell me where that is?”
“I’ll take you there.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said, confusing her even more.
She didn’t want him there, witnessing what might be another disaster. And she definitely didn’t want him to be kind to her again, because it caused emotions that were not particularly helpful. But before she could tell him so he was already striding toward the bike.
She dashed after him, annoyed all over again by his arrogance and the renewed warmth pooling in her belly when he mounted the powerful bike and kicked the ignition pedal. Why did he have to look so sexy on the magnificent machine?
“Wait! All you have to do is tell me where it is.” Having him there, watching and judging while she faced the demons she had been running away from for most of her life, would only make this harder.
“This is a one-time deal, Katherine,” he shouted above the engine noise, as usual not giving her a choice. “Either climb aboard or you’re on your own.”
She glared at him, wishing she could tell him where to shove his devil’s bargain. Unfortunately, she was way too tired and fed up to out-bully him. “What about the scooter?”
“It’ll be okay until we get back here. We’re not in Naples.” He twisted the throttle, making the bike roar, then hooked the helmet off the handlebars. “Put it on, so we can get going. I haven’t got all day.”
She jammed the helmet on her head, muttering under her breath as she clambered aboard the bike. As they accelerated down the track in a spray of rocks and dust, she had to wrap her arms round his torso. The heady blast of heat shimmered down to her sex—which was still tender from last night’s excesses—and it occurred to her that Jared’s brooding presence at her mother’s graveside wasn’t the only reason why agreeing to this particular devil’s bargain wasn’t a good idea.
* * *
After a twenty-minute ride along the coastal road and through the narrow alleyways of Capri town to the hill-top cemetery, they found her mother’s gravestone on a family plot in the far corner, nestled amid flowering vines.
SALVATORE NAVARRO
Alexis Elizabeth Mary
In amore morì
Katie ran her fingers over the names carved into the modest limestone slab, puzzled by the simplicity of the memorial. She had expected something much more elaborate for a woman who by all accounts had been a committed hedonist.
No dates, no insignia, none of the pomp and circumstance of the alabaster angels or marble Madonnas which adorned so many of the other graves. The stone just listed the name of the lover Alexis had died with, her own Christian names and the romantic Italian sentiment.
Died in love.
Emotions which Katie had kept hidden for so many years swelled in her throat. Vague memories, of sparkling green eyes so like her own, and an effervescent laugh, pushed at her consciousness.
Were those really memories of her mother, or simply projections which she’d clung onto as a child? She’d locked them away so long ago—ever since that miserable day when they’d buried her and the funeral had turned into a media circus—she would never know for sure. But, real or imagined, those memories blended with the anger and resentment which had colored her view of her mother for so long.
Alexis had been reckless and irresponsible, selfish and immature. It was hard to argue that point. How else could you explain the decision to abandon her own daughters? But after the intensity of what Katie had discovered in Jared’s caresses—even the torturous pleasure of riding on a bike with him again to get to this very spot—she was finding it hard to continue to condemn all of her mother’s choices. Was it really so terrible to want to live in the moment? And hadn’t her mother paid a terrible price in the end for her impulsive pursuit of pleasure?
Letting out an unsteady breath, Katie placed the bunch of wilting wild flowers she’d picked at the roadside on top of the curved stone.
“I forgive you, Mom,” she whispered. “Sorry it took me so long to come visit you again.”
Brushing a tear from her eye, she stood up.
Jared was standing several yards away, his shoulder propped against the crumbling wall of a mausoleum, his hands tucked into the pockets of his ruined suit pants. The stance looked casual but the intent way he was watching her was anything but.
Her heartbeat kicked against her ribs and she wondered again why he had taken the trouble to bring her here. She swallowed down the stupid swell of emotion. It wasn’t significant. He was probably just keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn’t attempt to skip out on him. Running nervous fingers through her hair, she took a moment to look around the nineteenth-century cemetery which she hadn’t taken the time to notice during their search for the grave.
She didn’t recognize the place at all. She would certainly never have found it from her scattered memories of the day of her mother’s funeral. It was such a beautiful spot, tranquil and ancient, the jumble of graves and tombs bisected by cobbled stone pathways and shaded by ancient oak trees which framed a breathtaking view of the sea from the cliffs above Capri’s main town.
The musty smell of moss was layered with the ubiquitous spice of the citrus groves and the sweet scent of overripe figs from a nearby farm.
She breathed in a lungful of the sea air and felt the tangle of emotions that had gripped her ever since reading Jared’s note begin to unwind.
Last night had been a mistake because it had meant so much more to her than it had to Jared but, as she walked past the graves, she felt lighter for having owned her own needs and desires. Unfortunately, as she approached him she was forced to acknowledge that those needs and desires were as strong, if not stronger, than they had been the night before. The low hum of arousal flared as his gaze roamed over her.
“All done?” he asked as he pushed off the wall.
She nodded, her throat suddenly thick.
To her astonishment, he took a hand out of his pocket and ran his fingertip down her cheek.
“You good?” he asked.
A lump formed in her throat and before she could stop it another tear dripped down her cheek.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he said, looking stricken.
She shook her head, trying to force down the wave of melancholy, but his concerned response only made it worse. Suddenly she found herself nestled against his shirt, her hands gripping his back and his arms tight around her shoulders as the tears she’d locked inside during all the years of her childhood and adolescent burst out.
Choking sobs rocked her, eventually subsiding into sniffs and shudders as the wave finally began to pass. He held her through it all, stroking her hair back from her face. He said nothing, but somehow his silence was so much more soothing than all the pointless platitudes spoken by well-meaning strangers which she remembered from that day. The musty masculine scent filled her nostrils and it didn’t seem to matter anymore that she found it both comforting and arousing.
At last, he cradled her cheeks in callused palms and raised her head to look deeply into her eyes.
“You miss your mom a lot?” he asked as he wiped the last of the tears away with his thumbs.
She huffed out a self-deprecating laugh and tugged her face away, feeling weak, ashamed and hopelessly needy.
What on earth had the crying jag been about? She wasn’t even sure where the tears had come from. And how could she have broken down in front of him? They weren’t exactly friends.
“Hardly,” she said. “I don’t even really remember her. She walked out on me and Megan when I was still a baby.” She sniffed, wishing she had a tissue handy. She probably looked a total mess. She noticed the wet patch on his shirt left by her tea
rs. But then her gaze lifted to the strong column of his throat, and the wisps of dark hair revealed by the open collar of his shirt, and the heat that was never far away sunk back into her sex. She jerked her gaze to his face and managed a wobbly smile, trying not to obsess about how much she still wanted him. They weren’t going to be doing the wild thing again. He’d made that abundantly clear in his note. And, however much her body might disagree, she still had at least some pride.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” she said stiffly, going for polite and distant but getting breathless instead. “I needed to forgive her so I can finally begin to forgive myself for all the dumb stuff I’ve inherited from her.”
Such as my ability to fall in lust with totally inappropriate guys.
His jaw tensed and she felt his withdrawal like a physical blow. She turned and walked swiftly down the path leading out of the cemetery, embarrassed by the revealing comment. Given his adversity to emotional attachments, her crying jag alone had probably been way too much information. But she’d gone less than five paces before strong fingers clamped on her elbow and he dragged her round to face him.
She steeled herself to see contempt—or, worse, pity. But instead, he looked guarded, while the pure blue of his irises glittered with an anger that for some strange reason didn’t seem to be directed at her.
“What dumb stuff did you inherit from your mom?”
* * *
He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t want to know. Heck, he shouldn’t even have offered to bring her here. And not just because riding a bike with her wrapped tightly around him had been agonizing.
But he couldn’t seem to hold back the question any more than he’d been able to hold back his knee-jerk reaction to her tears.
Tears didn’t usually impress him and they certainly had never made him want to offer comfort or support before now. But then he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen tears as genuine or heart-wrenching as hers. Despite the initial show of bravado when he’d caught up with her on the road, she’d seemed so forlorn and fragile as soon as she mentioned her mom and her hunt for the grave. And that unwelcome feeling of responsibility had returned, compounded by the guilt from the night before.
Once he’d known she wasn’t running away from him, the relief had been so huge it had been impossible for him to hold onto his temper. And then the exquisite torture of having her breasts flattened against his back and her arms banded around his waist, while the deep throb of the bike’s engine rumbled up through his thighs, had done the rest.
He didn’t know anymore whether it was the ongoing battle to control his lust or the unhappiness in her face which was driving the anger roiling in his gut but it didn’t seem to matter.
With the lightly tanned skin of her cheeks reddened by her tears, she looked more vulnerable—and more determined not to show it—than he had ever seen her. He could feel the punch of her pulse against his thumb and knew he couldn’t let her go until he knew what the heck she was talking about.
“You do know who my mother was?” she asked. “And the way she lived her life?”
Yeah, he knew, because they’d all been treated to a comprehensive assassination of the woman’s character during Lloyd Whittaker’s trial. The papers and bloggers had had a field day at the time with the stories of his ex-wife’s many high-profile affairs which had been documented in salacious detail by the defense. He hadn’t paid much attention because he wasn’t interested in celebrity gossip and he didn’t see what the heck Alexis Whittaker’s checkered sex life had to do with anything, seeing as the woman had been dead for years. He still didn’t, so he shrugged.
“I guess. But I don’t see what that’s got to do with you?”
Hectic color flooded her cheeks but she didn’t relinquish eye contact. “Given the way I threw myself at you five years ago, and lied to you last night to get you to sleep with me, I would say the similarities between me and my mother are pretty obvious.”
She tried to tug her arm free. He held on.
“Are you kidding me?” he said, stunned by the self-loathing in her voice.
“No, I’m not. You of all people should know that I’m just as much of a slut as she was.”
She began to struggle in earnest, so he grabbed her other arm.
“Stop it,” he said.
“Let me go, please.”
“Not until you look at me, Katherine.” He gave her a gentle shake, unsettled by her distress, especially as he now knew he was the cause.
The wide pools of emerald green—so bold, so brave—sparkled with unshed tears, and the connection he’d denied so strenuously cracked the impenetrable wall he’d built around his heart.
“If you’re a slut, how come you were a virgin last night?” he demanded.
He was furious, he realized, not just with Lloyd Whittaker—who he was sure had planted this nasty little seed in her head—but also with himself for helping it grow with his self-serving response to her sweet, artless seduction five years ago and his equally crummy note that morning.
“I tried to control myself, but with you I just couldn’t anymore,” she murmured. “And I never could.”
His grip tightened at the reminder he was the only guy she had ever let touch her.
“That’s why I came on to you when I was nineteen.” Her gaze darted away. “And why I seduced you yesterday.” She sighed, the sound so dejected the wall took another hit.
He tucked a knuckle under her chin and nudged her gaze back to his. “You wanna know why I got so mad with you when you tried to kiss me five years ago?” It was time to come clean about that much at least.
“I know why,” she said. “Because the last thing you needed was some spoiled brat making your job even harder.”
“Nope. I got mad because I wanted to kiss you back so bad. And I knew if I did I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Her eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
Damn, but she was more innocent than he’d figured. His blood surged south. Why that should make her even more irresistible, he didn’t want to examine too closely.
“And you didn’t seduce me yesterday, I seduced you.” Which made his crummy note hypocritical at best.
Just like five years ago, he’d tried to slam the stable door shut after the stallion had bolted. And then put the blame on her.
Great job, Caine. That makes you as much of a bastard as her old man.
“But I don’t understand...” she murmured. “If you wanted to kiss me that night why did you—”
“Shh.” He pressed his thumb to her lips, then let it glide over her mouth.
He cradled her face in his palms. The quick catch in her breathing had him fixating on that lush mouth.
“How about I show you how much I wanted to kiss you?”
The tiny nod was all the permission he needed to cover her lips with his. The kiss was supposed to be gentle, an apology for the way he had treated her then and now. But when her mouth opened instinctively, the yearning to have her again shattered the last of his control and the kiss turned carnal in a heartbeat.
He plunged his fingers into her wild curls and she arched against him, her tongue tangling with his as she surrendered.
God help him, but not even his knowledge of how vulnerable she was could stop him from taking what she offered.
* * *
Katie feasted on his kiss, rubbing her belly against the ridge of his erection. Arousal flared and need flooded through her. She sobbed her encouragement as his lips traveled down to the pulse-point in her neck.
One hot palm covered her breast and the tip engorged in a rush, painful in its intensity. She bucked, cried out. But then he tore his mouth away and stepped back abruptly.
“We have to stop,” he said, the fierce regret in his face leaving her shaky and unsure. “I have to get back to work.”
She folded her arms around her midriff and nodded. It was an excuse, and not a very good one at that, but as she took in their surroundings—the fresh flowers laid on the g
raves of the dead—she had to be grateful that he had brought them to their senses. Following him meekly out of the graveyard, she climbed back aboard the bike, her lips still stinging from the all-consuming kiss.
* * *
“You okay to get back to the villa from here?” Jared asked when they arrived at the place Katie had left the gardener’s scooter.
“Yes.” She nodded, so dazed she wasn’t sure she knew which planet she was on let alone how to get back to the villa. But after that soul-destroying kiss she needed time to get her equilibrium back.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, the husky tone only making her more unsure.
Katie touched her swollen lips as the bike sped off in a cloud of dust. She stood on the empty road until Jared had disappeared, her mind still reeling from the afternoon’s revelations. And the devastating knowledge that he still wanted her as much as she wanted him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CONTRARY TO HIS promise that afternoon, Jared didn’t show up for the evening meal, so Katie ate alone in her room and spent the rest of the evening immersed in her painting. But, instead of the landscapes she had worked on diligently after returning from the cemetery, she allowed herself the luxury of sketching the subject which had fascinated her for five years.
She moved to the villa’s terrace after the staff had left for the night to make the most of the fading light as she finished the detailed line drawing and switched to oils.
The strength and beauty of Jared’s naked body when he had stripped off in front of her came alive on the canvas and she came to a few important conclusions.
They were two young, healthy, unattached adults who desired each other. And they had two more days in this luxury villa to act upon that attraction. Now she had made peace with her mother and a legacy which she no longer felt responsible for, she didn’t see why they shouldn’t make the most of this opportunity.
Jared’s failure to show up for dinner, though, suggested he was going to need more persuading.
Obviously, her inexperience and her ludicrous breakdown in the cemetery had made him believe she was a naive, clingy woman who wouldn’t be able to abide by his “no emotional attachments” rule. While she had to admit she was still desperately curious about where that rule came from, and why he thought it was necessary, she needed to prove to him she could respect those boundaries if she wanted to take this afternoon’s kiss to its logical conclusion.
