by Heidi Rice
‘He needed an heir.’ Gio shrugged. ‘And he enjoyed dragging Claudia through the courts, I suspect.’
The words were delivered in a gruff, deliberately contemptuous monotone. But underneath it she could hear a plea that he couldn’t quite disguise, of the little boy who had been so easily hurt by the two people who should have cherished him the most.
‘Gio, I’m so sorry.’ She covered his hand where it lay on the table, and squeezed.
‘Why should you be sorry?’ he said, pulling his hand out from under hers. ‘It didn’t matter to me. In fact, it was a relief. I’d always wondered why I could never please the man.’
He was lying. It had mattered. He’d brooded for days every time the Duke had reprimanded him as a teenager. She’d seen the hurt and confusion he’d tried so hard to hide behind surly indifference. And she’d seen how unhappy, how volatile he’d been that night.
And still mattered now.
No wonder he found it so hard to believe that love existed. That relationships could last.
His eyes narrowed sharply. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Stop that right now.’ Standing up he threw a fistful of euro notes on the table.
‘Stop what?’ she gasped as his fingers locked on her wrist and he hoisted her out of her chair.
‘Stop psychoanalysing me.’ He shot the clipped words over his shoulder as he walked out of the restaurant, tugging her behind him.
‘I’m not psychoanalysing you,’ she panted, trying to keep up with his long strides. ‘I’m just trying to understand why…’
‘There’s nothing to understand.’ He stopped on the street outside, his voice stiff with frustration. ‘I wanted you and you wanted me. There wasn’t anything significant about that night except you were a virgin. And if I’d figured that out sooner, believe me, I wouldn’t have touched you no matter how tempted I was.’
The fervent denial made her emotion swell to impossible proportions. Why did he find it so hard even now to admit he’d needed someone? Even fleetingly?
‘All right,’ she said placatingly. ‘But I still find it moving that—’
‘Well, don’t.’ He cut her off as he marched down the street again. ‘Because it’s not.’ They reached the scooter. ‘That night was about animal passion.’ Lifting the spare helmet off the handlebars, he thrust it at her. ‘Climb aboard, because I’ve got some more animal passion for you.’
Great. She wasn’t feeling that moved any more. ‘Stop ordering me about.’ She shoved the helmet on her head. Damn, he’d made her pout—and she hated to be a cliché. ‘How about if I said I didn’t want your animal passion?’
‘You’d be lying,’ he said with infuriating certainty as he mounted the scooter and jammed the key into the ignition. ‘Now get on. You’ve got exactly ten seconds.’ He stamped his foot on the start pedal. ‘Or we’re going to be doing it against the back wall of Latini instead of in the privacy of my bedroom. Your choice.’
‘I will not get on your scooter!’ she shouted, as colour flooded her cheeks at the sensual threat—and her traitorous nipples pebbled beneath the thin silk of her blouse.
‘Ten…’
‘How dare you talk to me like that?’ she cried, flustered now, as well as outraged.
‘Nine…’
He’s kidding. He has to be.
‘Eight…’
‘I am not your personal floozy!’
One dark brow arched. ‘Seven…’
Her knickers got moist.
‘Six…’
‘And, frankly, you’ve got an awfully high—’
‘Five…’
‘—opinion of your powers of seduction,’ she tried to scoff, but rushed the words.
‘Four…’ He slung his arm across the handlebars of the scooter, looking relaxed but ready—like a tiger waiting to pounce. ‘Three…’
‘As if you could get me to do it with you in a public place,’ she hedged desperately, her voice rising. Time was running out.
‘Two…’ He stood up on the scooter, looming over her.
She slapped her hands on her hips. ‘Now, listen here—’
‘One.’
Oh, hell.
She scrambled onto the seat behind him and grabbed two fistfuls of his T-shirt.
‘All right. All right.’ She yanked. ‘You win. For now,’ she said, sighing with relief as he sank back with a triumphant chuckle.
‘I’m so not finished talking about this, though,’ she continued, fighting a rearguard action as he revved the engine and she wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘You arrogant, oversexed…’
The protest was lost in the roar of the Vespa’s engine as it careered away from the kerb.
Issy clung on, her mind spinning, her tender breasts vibrating against the muscled sinews of his back.
As they sped over the Ponte Vecchio she caught sight of a couple embracing in the shadows of the ancient bridge. And agonising desire flooded between her thighs.
She held on for dear life. What were the chances she was going to be in any fit state to conduct a conversation, let alone an argument, once they got back to the villa?
Not a lot, actually.
After the fifteen-minute journey up the hill, Gio clasped her hand in his and walked through the darkened house. He didn’t utter a word. And neither did she. Too preoccupied by the thought of the animal passion they had already sampled to remember why she’d objected to sampling some more.
Within seconds of slamming his bedroom door, he had her naked.
As he flung off his own clothing she stood shaking, mesmerised by the hard, masculine beauty of his body gilded in the moonlight. Then her eyes snagged on the powerful erection jutting out as he sheathed himself.
And the animal passion that had smouldered all evening leapt into flame.
‘No more delaying tactics.’ He lifted her easily in his arms. ‘There’s nothing to understand.’ Gripping her thighs, he hooked her legs around his waist. ‘All we need is this.’
‘Why can’t we do both?’ she asked, as her back thudded against the door. But she knew she was fighting a losing battle as the head of his erection probed at the folds of her sex.
His eyes met hers in the half-light. ‘Later, Isadora.’ He planted a possessive kiss on her lips. ‘We’re busy.’ And impaled her in one powerful thrust.
She sobbed at the fullness of the penetration.
Okay, later works, she thought vaguely, as he sank in to the hilt.
A long time later, her body aching from an overdose of physical activity and sexual pleasure, they finally collapsed onto his huge bateau bed.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get to slow and easy?’ she mumbled, curling against his side and pillowing her head on his shoulder, so tired she would happily beg for oblivion.
She heard his chuckle, felt the soft rumble in his chest before his arm drew her close and his hand caressed her bottom. ‘That would be next time. Now, go to sleep.’
Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed her hair, and she heard him take a deep breath before releasing it.
‘Issy. What the hell am I going to do with you?’ he murmured.
Despite the fuzziness of exhaustion, she heard the confusion in his voice and felt her heart stutter in response.
Become my friend again.
She nestled deeper into his embrace as the warm, languid afterglow of sensational sex pulled her into a dreamy sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WAKE UP, Sleeping Beauty, you need to get out of the sun before you end up with third degree burns.’
Issy shaded her eyes to see Gio standing by her sun-lounger, looking tall and delicious in chinos and an open-necked shirt.
‘You’re back already?’ She stretched lazily, ignoring the persistent flutter beneath her breastbone at the sight of him. He’d left for a meeting in town after breakfast, and she’d taken a swim in the pool. It was a surprise to see him back so soon.
He crouched down on his haunches until they were eye to ey
e. ‘I’ve been gone for over two hours.’ He rested his arm across his knee and touched her nose. ‘And you’re looking a little pink.’
‘What’s the time?’ she asked groggily, determined not to read too much into how her spirits lifted at his look of concern.
Despite Gio’s assertions that all they had was animal passion, they had drifted into friendship again as easily as breathing. After only a few days the companionship they shared had become as exciting as their sexual relationship.
If the first day’s sightseeing had been magical, yesterday’s had been even more so. They’d brushed shoulders with businessmen and market traders alike in a trattoria at the Mercado Centrale, while Gio had chuckled at her pathetic attempts to order in Italian. He’d taken her to see the stunning golden mosaics in the Romanesque basilica of San Miniato al Monte, then cuddled with her under the stars as they watched La Dolce Vita in flickering black and white on the ten-foot open-air screen in a nearby park.
In the last twenty-four hours she’d seen a man emerge who was cultured and charismatic, had a decidedly mischievous sense of humour, and was passionate about his work and the beautiful city he lived in.
Maybe they hadn’t talked about their past or anything else too personal again—something she knew was deliberate on Gio’s part—but she hadn’t pushed. Taking the sweet, steady glide into friendship and getting an enchanting glimpse of what that unhappy boy had made of his life had been enough. Frankly, friendship didn’t get much better than this. Why ruin the mood?
Gio glanced at his watch. ‘It’s after one,’ he replied. ‘And about the hottest time of the day.’
‘Oh.’ She’d been asleep for over an hour. And would probably be a bit sore tomorrow as a result. Thank goodness she’d slathered factor fifty sunscreen on before she’d dozed off.
She gave a jaw-breaking yawn and sighed. ‘I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. This is all your fault.’
‘How?’
‘You’re the one who hasn’t let me sleep since I got here,’ she teased, although it wasn’t far from the truth.
This was a friendship with some exceptional benefits, she thought, as her pulse spiked at the sight of his trousers stretching across muscled thighs.
They’d done hard and fast, slow and easy, and everything in between. Gio’s powers of recovery had proved to be Herculean, and she’d never been more satisfied, more sated—or more exhausted—in her life. When she’d woken up snuggled in his arms that morning, inhaling the familiar musk of his scent had sent shockwaves through her over-sensitised flesh, but her hunger had been as insistent as ever when his morning erection had brushed her bottom.
Okay, so she’d felt a strange dragging sensation when he’d left her to shower alone this morning because he had an important meeting. But she hadn’t let it bother her. The let-down feeling was to be expected. They were having a fabulous time, but it would be over soon. The ennui was probably just to do with endorphins, or something.
‘Exactly how long have you been out here?’ he asked. ‘Did you even put on any cream?’
Her grin widened. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘It’s not funny,’ he said, all serious and intense. ‘You’ve got very fair skin. Sunburn’s no joke.’
‘Spoken by a man who’s probably never had it.’ She ran her fingernail over one tanned bicep, enjoying the way the muscle bunched. ‘Honestly, Gio. You sound like my mum.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ His eyebrow lifted, the frown replaced by a slow smile.
‘Yes, yeah,’ she said, desire curling anew in her belly.
‘Just for that…’
She shrieked as he thrust one hand under her knees and the other behind her back.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, gripping his neck as he straightened with her wriggling in his arms.
‘Helping you cool off.’
She started to wriggle in earnest when she saw his direction. ‘No. No way. I’ve already had a swim today.’ And the water would feel freezing after she’d been lying in the sun.
Ignoring her protests and her struggles, he hefted her towards the pool. ‘Yes, but I haven’t,’ he said, and stepped off the edge fully clothed.
‘So, is that sunburn or are you still blushing?’ Gio asked, a teasing smile lurking on his lips.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He sat at the terrace table, his wavy hair furrowed into slick rows, damp wisps of chest hair visible through the open lapels of his robe.
‘I had no idea you could move that fast.’ He poured a glass of lemonade from a pitcher on the table and passed it to her. ‘I think you may have set a land-speed record.’
She took a swallow of the icy drink to calm the giddy beat of her pulse. ‘It’s not remotely funny,’ she said dryly, trying to control her flush. ‘Your housekeeper will think I’m a tart.’
If she doesn’t already.
They’d been about to ravage each other during their impromptu dip when Carlotta had interrupted them to announce that lunch had been set out on the terrace. Issy had scurried off to the bedroom wrapped in a towel and dying of embarrassment. Gio’s laughter had echoed behind her. She still hadn’t quite managed to get over her mortification.
‘No, she won’t,’ he said lazily, slicing into the veal parmigiana on his plate. ‘She’s Italian. They don’t get as hung up on social niceties as you Brits.’
‘You Brits? Aren’t you half-British?’
He grinned. ‘When it comes to social niceties, I’d say I’m more Italian.’
‘So would I,’ she said emphatically.
He chuckled.
Issy smiled back. But as she crossed her legs and smoothed her robe over her knees the heat continued to burn in her cheeks.
How could she not have noticed Carlotta beside the pool?
And how could she have got carried away like that, knowing there was a houseful of servants who could interrupt them at any minute? Gio had turned her from nun to nymphomaniac in the space of a few days—and it was starting to concern her.
Shouldn’t the passion have begun to fade a little by now?
Gio lifted her hand off the table and linked his fingers with hers. ‘In deference to your British sensibilities, I suggest we retire to the privacy of the bedroom after lunch.’
The familiar thrill shot through her as he pressed his lips to her knuckles. Concerning her even more. Why couldn’t she say no to him? Ever?
Carlotta stepped onto the terrace, holding a small silver tray, and Issy tugged her hand free.
Gio took a large envelope off the tray and thanked the housekeeper. Issy sent Carlotta what she hoped was a friendly smile and the woman smiled back, apparently unperturbed by what she’d almost interrupted in the pool. As Issy watched the housekeeper leave, she wondered how many more of Gio’s sexual escapades Carlotta had witnessed. The instant prickle of jealousy made her frown. This was temporary—with no strings attached. Gio’s other women didn’t matter to her in the least.
‘Dammit.’
At the whispered curse, she turned to see Gio dump a large magnolia card into the wastepaper bin and throw the torn envelope on top.
‘What was that? It’s not bad news, is it?’
‘No, it’s nothing,’ he said as he picked up his knife and fork.
The movement made his robe gape open. Issy pulled her gaze away from the sprinkle of dark hair that arrowed down his abdomen.
It wasn’t nothing. That much was obvious from the tense, annoyed expression on his face.
Brushing off the torn envelope, she lifted the card out of the bin. The fancy gold lettering was in Italian, but she could make out today’s date.
Why had he reacted so violently to something that looked so innocuous?
‘Who is Carlo Nico Lorenzo?’ she asked, reading out the name printed in the centre of the card.
He glanced up, his eyes stormy. ‘I threw that away for a reason. It’s rubbish.’
‘Is he a relative of yours?�
� she asked, pretending she hadn’t heard the rude comment as curiosity consumed her. ‘Did your mother have brothers and sisters?’ She trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
‘Carlo is the baby they’re baptising,’ he said curtly, then leaned forward and plucked the invitation out of her hand. ‘He’s the grandson of Claudia’s oldest brother. Who’s also called Carlo.’ He dumped the card onto the table, face down. ‘Now, can we finish our lunch?’
‘You mean he’s your uncle’s grandson?’ she prompted. Why had he never mentioned his Italian family before? She’d had no idea he had relatives in Italy.
‘I guess.’ He bent his head to concentrate on his food. The tactic so deliberate, her curiosity only increased.
Picking up the invitation, she scanned the contents again, then flipped it over. ‘What does this say?’ She pointed to the spidery handwriting scrawled across the back.
He chewed, swallowed, his eyes narrowing. ‘You know, Issy, sometimes your persistence can be very annoying.’
She waited calmly for a proper answer.
He huffed, snatched the card and read aloud. ‘It says: “We miss you, Giovanni. You are family. Please come this time.”’ He flicked the card back into the bin. ‘Which is insane, because I hardly know the man—or his family.’
‘This time? How many times have they invited you to a family event?’ It went without saying that he’d never attended any—had probably never even bothered to RSVP.
‘I don’t know. Hundreds.’ He blew out a frustrated breath. ‘There’s a lot of them. Claudia had five older brothers, and they all had tons of kids. There’s an event every other week.’
‘Where do they live?’ Maybe they lived on the other side of Italy? Maybe that was why he had never bothered to visit them?
‘About an hour’s drive,’ he said. ‘The family owns an olive farm near San Giminiano. Most of them still live around there, I guess.’ He sent her a bored look. ‘So, do you want to tell me why you’re so interested?’
A spurt of temper rose up.
