by Annie West
She had to do it.
*
He had to knock a second time before she answered the door.
‘You!’ Her lush mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed as she took him in.
Had he really hoped this would be easy? That she’d fall at his feet, or better yet, into his arms?
Dream on, De Laurentis.
She’d already engineered an excuse to leave the set before he could get away, as if determined to avoid him.
‘Me.’ He moved to enter the room but halted when she blocked his way.
Matteo could force his way in. He might even be able to persuade her to let him in. But, though her action was like a smack in the face, he decided not to push. Why make an issue out of this when more important things were at stake?
Like finding out the real reason his wife had deserted him.
‘Ready for the script meeting? I came to show you the way.’ He kept his expression bland and his tone easy.
She was so skittish he knew any suggestion they meet to discuss their relationship would fail. But she couldn’t refuse to work with him.
Matteo hated that he’d had to use that as an excuse to lure his wife to Venice.
Slowly she nodded. ‘Just a second.’ She turned and hurried to the elegant antique desk over by the window, snatching up a laptop bag. She almost ran back.
Because she was worried he’d cross the threshold into the sanctuary of her room?
Matteo glanced at the wide, silk-covered bed against the far wall, his jaw clenching. When he entered his wife’s room it wouldn’t be because he forced his way in. It would be because she begged him to. And begged for a whole lot more besides.
‘This way.’ He spun on his heel and marched down the hall. Behind him he heard the snap of her heels on the marble floor. Since when had Angela worn high heels during the day?
Face it. You have no idea what she’s been doing these last twelve months. How she’s lived and who she’s been with.
His stride faltered at the idea of another man in her life. But he couldn’t believe it. Not Angela. She might infuriate him with her obstinate refusal to return to him, but she wasn’t a cheat. Her honesty, the knowledge she was utterly genuine, without the guile he’d found in so many women, was one of the things that had first attracted him.
‘This is a very quiet hotel,’ she said as he strode down the grand staircase. Her tone of voice made him wonder if she was nervous.
‘That’s because it’s not officially open. My brother, Luca, bought the palazzo recently and is still refurbishing. There’s more work to do before it’s officially open. But he knew I wanted somewhere private, away from the crowds.’
Matteo pushed open a door and gestured for her to enter the conference room with its vast oval table. One wall displayed a series of old maps and sketches of the city. On the far side, windows gave a tantalising view of the Grand Canal, but Matteo had more important things on his mind than the beauties of Venice.
One beauty at a time.
He breathed deep as Angela passed him, catching the faintest, shockingly familiar scent of her favourite fig and cinnamon soap. His hand tightened on the door. He hadn’t smelled that in so long.
It hurled him instantly back to those heady, ecstatic days when Angela was rarely out of his arms. When she’d been as eager for him as he was for her. She hadn’t been able to sleep unless she was curled against him. Even in sleep she’d kept a proprietorial hand on him and he, who’d spent years revelling in the fun of casual affairs with an endless supply of eager women, had surrendered himself willingly. He’d wanted no-one but her.
That hadn’t changed.
No wonder he was strung so tight he felt he might snap.
‘Yet he could fit in all the crew?’ She put her case on the end of the long table and drew out a gilded chair, her movements stiff. She’d never been good at hiding her feelings. He was grateful for that now. It gave him at least one advantage.
‘Sadly, no.’ Matteo shut the door then took the chair beside hers.
Instantly she stiffened. But instead of shuffling the chair further along the table, she merely concentrated on getting out her laptop and a paper copy of the script.
‘Filming seems to be going well. That scene I saw today…you and Gina work well together.’ Angela kept her eyes down, as if the most compelling thing in the room was the text before her, not the fact she was alone with her husband for the first time in ages.
Matteo slapped his own copy down on the table, thrusting aside impatience. He couldn’t tell if she was just nervous or trying to reinforce the point that they were no longer intimate.
But surely her nerves meant her emotions were engaged. She still felt something for him.
That, combined with the flash of response he’d seen in her eyes at the shoot, told him she wasn’t immune to him, as she pretended. In fact, the way she’d stared at him back in the alley told him she still desired him.
The question was, did she love him?
‘It’s going well enough,’ he said finally, when he could unlock his clenched teeth. It grated that she wanted to talk about the film, not them.
‘So some of the crew are staying elsewhere?’ Angela seemed desperate to keep the conversation rolling. Was she afraid what would happen if she didn’t fill the silence? Surely she knew she couldn’t avoid the moment of truth between them.
Yet she continued to busy herself, starting up her laptop. She was trying too hard to be impervious. That was a good sign.
Matteo leaned back in his chair, repressing a smile as he read her body language. ‘Actually, all the crew are in another hotel.’
‘What?’ That made her look around. Her eyes, a delicious mix of toffee brown with amber, were wide with shock.
‘There was a problem with the other hotel fitting us all in.’ The problem being that he, Matteo, wanted privacy for his reunion with his wife. This place gave him all the privacy he wanted. His plan was to cut her off from other distractions and resolve the problems keeping them apart.
‘You mean we’re alone here?’ Her horrified expression tore at his ego.
It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that he was her husband, not a serial killer. And that he’d done what most husbands wouldn’t and allowed her a separate room. For now.
He wanted her to come to him of her own volition, not because he forced her. Though at the moment, compulsion was tempting. Restraining himself, chatting like polite strangers, took its toll.
‘Of course not. The manager is here and several staff. And there are decorators coming and going, finalising the other rooms.’
Matteo saw she was about to protest, perhaps demand new accommodation, and pre-empted her with raised hand.
He’d used the script as an excuse to get her alone. Now, pride wounded that she continued to make small talk, he changed tactics. He refused to let her see his desperation. Let her wait as he’d had to wait. Let her stew, wondering when he’d broach the real reason he’d brought her here. It was time Angela tasted a dose of her own medicine.
‘Let’s not waste time discussing domestic arrangements. There’s a problem with the script we need to sort out. It all seemed fine on paper, but filming in Venice presents some unique issues.’
*
If Angela had feared her husband would sweep her into his arms and seduce her, or even interrogate her on why she’d deserted him, she was doomed to… Was that disappointment?
What had she expected? That he’d welcome her with open arms? He was a proud man, a man who could and did have his pick of glamorous women. Clearly he’d moved on.
Angela blinked and tried to focus on the dialogue on the page before her. After an hour working next to Matteo, of him treating her as nothing more than a work colleague, her nerves were at breaking point. It became impossible to maintain her pretence of concentration on the text. The words swam before her eyes. Her mind kept straying to the man at her side and the pain engulfing her.
She
was tired and heart sore.
She’d prayed she could remain professional in front of Matteo but it became harder with every second. She bit her lip and tried to find her place.
‘Let’s break for a bit.’ His voice, soft, yet with a distinctive husky edge that was far too seductive, was like a caress.
‘Good idea.’ Angela nodded, closing the script and raising an unsteady hand to push her hair back from her face. It had been a long day. The stress of sitting close to Matteo, and the perverse disappointment that he didn’t care that this was the first time they’d seen each other in ages, was too much to bear.
His chair scraped back from the table and she sucked in a breath of relief. Soon she’d be back in her room, able to regroup.
But instead of standing he turned the chair round to face her, his knees brushing her thigh.
Startled, Angela swung her head round and was instantly captured by his brilliant indigo stare. She couldn’t look away, no matter how hard she tried. Her heart tripped to a frantic beat and her breath seized somewhere north of her lungs.
There was a tension in him that hadn’t been there before. His sculpted cheekbones looked higher than ever, tight flesh emphasising his charismatic looks. A familiar, tiny line appeared at the centre of his forehead — a sign he was perplexed or thinking hard. His supple mouth thinned and beneath the close-cropped beard he wore for his current part, Angela saw his jaw clench.
Matteo braced his hands on his splayed legs and leaned close, invading her space, filling her senses with the addictive scent of pine and exotic spice and hot male flesh that she’d missed so long.
Yearning flickered through her. A desire to channel her hands through that glossy black hair and haul him in for a hungry, open-mouthed kiss so she could lose herself in the riot of pleasure he always delivered.
‘Now, wife, you can tell me why you left me. And why you refused to come back.’
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
It hit Angela then that Matteo’s enviable calm had been a front.
This close, she read the turbulent emotion in his eyes, in the pinch of his haughty nostrils and the angle of his head. Suppressed energy hummed through him, congesting the air between them, making adrenaline course through her body in instant response.
The question was, did she want to run, or stay and see this out?
A lifetime’s habit in avoiding confrontation made her imagine shoving back her chair and making for the door.
But she couldn’t keep running. She’d realised that when she was in Australia, trying to mend herself and find the strength to imagine the future without Matteo.
It was time to face this. Wasn’t that why she’d returned? The lawyers’ messages about breach of contract had given her impetus but she’d already known she had to…finish this with Matteo.
Finish. It was such a cold, depressing word.
She swallowed hard, throat muscles chafing as if they closed over shards of glass.
‘Well?’ One black eyebrow slashed upwards.
Angela pushed her chair back from the table, moving enough that his knees no longer touched her thigh. Pretending she didn’t still feel his nearness like a physical weight, branding her skin.
She leaned back as far as she could in her straight-backed chair and clasped her hands together.
‘I told you before, Matteo, we’re mismatched. It was never going to work.’
‘That’s no answer and you know it.’ His voice was calm but Angela sensed something dark and barely leashed beneath the even tones.
‘You want me to be specific?’ She dragged in a breath and shifted her gaze so she stared at a point just past his ear. It was too hard, meeting those searing eyes. ‘You need a woman who can accept your…sophisticated lifestyle.’ She tasted bitterness on her tongue and grimaced, swallowing hard. ‘Who can thrive in it.’ She paused, choosing her words. ‘I’m not that woman. I let…passion blind me.’
It had been love, not merely passion that had made her hope, if not quite believe, they could made a go of it. But she’d been sorely mistaken.
‘You’re still talking in generalities that make no sense.’ His voice was terse but Angela refused to look directly at him. This was hard enough already.
She spread her hands. ‘I’m not comfortable on a red carpet. I can’t handle the press—’
Angela couldn’t miss his wide, slicing gesture. ‘That means nothing! You think I married you for that? Besides, coping with public attention is something you learn over time. And I was there to help you, if you’d only let me.’
It was true. Matteo had been patient and understanding, not pushing her beyond her limits. Cossetting her, in fact, when some would have expected her to sink or swim. The clamour of press speculation about their unlikely union was part of the PR wheel that kept his career progressing. Naturally he’d expect her to make the most of it.
‘That doesn’t explain why you deserted me.’
Unthinking, Angela swivelled to look at him, tugged by the hint of vulnerability she heard in his roughened voice. Almost as if he hurt.
Angela had assumed his pride had been dented by her leaving. But since he’d turned to another woman so soon after their whirlwind wedding, she’d never considered he’d feel real pain when she walked out on him. A man truly in love wouldn’t have betrayed his wife.
Was he acting? His phenomenal success wasn’t merely due to his sexy good looks. Matteo was one of the most talented actors she’d seen.
She was the one torn apart by grief at his betrayal. And at her own naivety in believing he could ever have loved her. She’d been a challenge, a twenty-five year old virgin who’d thought the sun and the moon shone out of his eyes. She’d inadvertently piqued his hunter’s instinct when she’d shyly withdrawn from his advances instead of opening her arms.
That had come later. Matteo’s passion had been an education. Angela had, to her amazement, discovered that beneath her natural shyness and the reserve she’d acquired in order to keep the peace with her father, lurked a lusty woman whose appetite for sexual pleasure, and specifically for Matteo, knew few boundaries.
‘Talk to me, Angela! I understand you flying to Australia when your mother needed you. But you could at least have come to me on set to tell me the news, instead of leaving a note for me to find when I got home. I had no idea how sick she was. I would have gone with you.’ He paused, his chest rising as he pulled air deep into his lungs.
‘Then when I flew out later for the funeral you were changed. So…cold and withdrawn.’ His expression was so bleak Angela almost believed he was hurting as much as her.
‘I didn’t believe it at first when you said our marriage wasn’t working for you. It came completely out of the blue.’
Angela bit the inside of her cheek. She remembered that day with absolute clarity, right down to the pinch of the new black shoes she’d worn to her mother’s funeral and the disbelief in Matteo’s face at her declaration. And the fact that, despite everything, she’d wanted to throw herself into his arms and pretend everything could be all right again. That they’d be all right.
That she hadn’t seen what she’d seen.
It had taken every ounce of courage she had, to face Matteo and tell him the marriage wasn’t working and she needed space. Even then she knew he wouldn’t have accepted that if it weren’t for Sonia intervening. Sonia, her protective older sister, who’d come to her aid and convinced Matteo that Angela wasn’t up to any more stress.
Angela should have told him then that she wanted a divorce, but she knew how determined he was, how persistent. She hadn’t had the strength to finish it then, going through all the distressing details. Besides, despite her misery, despite knowing her dream of love had been an illusion, she hadn’t been ready to talk of divorce.
‘I know you were mourning and you needed time to get over your mother’s death. I understood you weren’t yourself, and Sonia confirmed you had had a lot of family stuff weighing on you that you n
eeded to work through.’
He leaned closer, his gaze pinioning her. ‘So even though it went against every instinct, I took her advice and gave you space. But I never meant for it to last this long. You don’t answer calls or emails. Whenever I’ve planned to fly out you’ve flat out rejected me, finding some excuse not to be available. You don’t even want to talk about us, must less fight for us!’
His voice rose on a note of impatience and indignation, but Angela heard more too. That echo of hurt in his husky, deep voice. As if she were at fault. As if she’d broken their marriage. When all she was trying to do was put an end to the disaster that enmeshed them both.
It was too much.
‘You want to know why I don’t want to be with you?’ Her spine stiffened and her jaw jutted.
For so long she’d tried to put this behind her, knowing the recollection could only hurt, but there was no stuffing this back into the dark recesses of her soul where she’d tried to hide it. That hadn’t worked. The poison had seeped right through her, making her feel tainted.
It was he who should feel tainted, not her.
‘I’ve tried to be…civilised about this,’ she said, catching his frown of confusion. ‘It’s clear we just don’t work as a couple so it seemed simpler to go with that.’
Because after living much of her life in the shadow of her bullying father, she naturally took the line of least resistance and emotional upheaval. After her parents divorced, Angela, still a young schoolgirl, had moved to Italy with her father, while Sonia stayed in Australia with their mother. Which meant Angela bore the full brunt of her father’s oppressive, controlling ways.
But now, suddenly Angela could no longer tamp down the raw, biting agony over the way Matteo had betrayed her.
‘I did come to see you. As soon as I got the call from Australia.’
Matteo’s eyes rounded. ‘I never saw you. I was on set the whole day.’
Angela’s lips widened in a tight tug of facial muscles that was probably more grimace than smile. ‘I came to your trailer. But when I got there your co-star, Vittoria, was leaving it.’
