Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Wasn’t that the most erotic thing imaginable?’ he murmured, pressing his lips over hers and feeling her warm sensuality rising up to meet him.

  Still dazed, Cassie nodded—because she couldn’t deny his words. It was. But as he took her through into the bedroom she thought that it had been…been…

  What?

  A demonstration of his superior sexuality. A pleasure-fest, yes—but without any of the attendant romance of deep kisses and tender caresses that her foolish heart had craved. Did he sense her misgivings? Was that why he sat her down on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of her?

  ‘Are you going to undo my tie?’ he murmured.

  With trembling fingers, she complied—realising that he meant her to carry on, so she unbuttoned the silk shirt, too. He helped her with the belt and the trousers, swiftly divesting himself of the rest of his clothes until he was as naked as she, his body all satin-sheened skin and powerful limbs.

  ‘Oh, Giancarlo,’ she whispered as she felt the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t realise—’

  ‘That it could be so good?’ His lips curved into a smile before drifting to her neck. ‘And I didn’t realise that you would be so beautifully responsive. So quick to orgasm and so eager to learn.’

  He pushed her back onto the bed and moved over her, his fingers entwining in the spill of her hair and his lips whispering over hers in tantalising little kisses. And Cassie revelled in the growing familiarity of his body. Already, she was eager to reacquaint herself with the feel of tensile muscle beneath the silken skin and the honed perfection of his torso. This time she knew exactly when he wanted her to part her legs—and although she knew now what to expect, the glorious intimacy of his first thrust still took her breath away.

  Glancing up, she could see that the ebony eyes were slitted and opaque as he entered her, could see the play of muscles in his powerful shoulders as he moved inside her. His lips dipped to tease hers—brushing and biting and grazing—until she greedily raised her hands to pull his head down, hearing his soft laugh as he deepened the kiss. She revelled in the changing rhythm—the way his hands clamped around her waist so that he could draw her even closer—until she felt so full of him that there was only one way to release herself from this exquisite tension and that was to let go.

  She cried out—a strange, broken little sound she scarcely recognised as her own voice—and almost immediately she heard his own ragged groan. Afterwards, she lay there for a warm age, wrapped in his arms—her head on his chest as she listened to the thundering of his heart as it grew steady and his hand stroked absently at her hair.

  But Cassie felt shaken as she lay in the curve of his arms. She hadn’t realised that sex could make you feel so utterly vulnerable—even more vulnerable than she’d felt in that room with the security officers at Hudson’s. Or that it could bind you to a man—make you want to cling to him and never let him go.

  He must have gone to sleep, for his hand stilled to lie on top of her head, and she risked turning slightly, her eyes drinking in the details of his face as if she was committing them to memory.

  In sleep the rugged features were relaxed—his expression less stern. She studied the dark sweep of his lashes and the way his hard mouth had softened into a sensual pout. It suddenly occurred to her that the man he really was lay concealed behind the rather formidable mask he always wore. Would he ever let her see what lay beneath?

  She was unprepared for his sudden awakening—the way those lashes parted to reveal the ebony gleam beneath.

  Giancarlo stretched and gave a lazy yawn. ‘Eri persa nei tuoi pensieri,’ he murmured.

  She pleated her brows in response. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That your thoughts were elsewhere.’

  Cassie pushed the hair back off her face. ‘They were.’

  ‘Usually a danger sign where a woman is concerned,’ he observed drily.

  ‘I was thinking…’ She hesitated, because despite the intimacies they’d just shared there was something still a little intimidating about him. ‘That I don’t really know anything about you,’ she finished softly.

  His index finger stroked from neck to nipple, his mouth curving as he registered her answering shiver. ‘Yes, you do,’ he contradicted silkily. ‘You know how to turn me on with your big violet eyes and your petal lips and your soft, firm curves. You’re learning a little more every time we make love. By the time you go home to Cornwall, you will have become a sleek and seasoned lover who will be able to captivate any man you choose.’

  Cassie supposed that was a kind of compliment—the kind of thing a man would say to his temporary mistress—but it made her feel like nothing more than a body. Somebody without a mind of her own. ‘But I don’t know anything about your life, Giancarlo.’

  Giancarlo let his hand drift down to her breast. Why did women always want to interrogate you—and at the most inappropriate times? Hadn’t he hoped that his little shop-girl would be docile when he wanted her to be? He sighed. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Tell me how you ended up living in London.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Those are the best ones.’

  In spite of himself, he smiled—his finger stilling on the puckering rosy flesh of her nipple. ‘You are very persistent, aren’t you?’

  She bit her lip as she felt pleasure rippling from where he was touching her. Was he trying to distract her? ‘J-just interested.’

  He looked into her flushed face. ‘I told you that I was Tuscan by birth?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Cassie nodded, snuggling a little closer to him. ‘What’s it like in Tuscany?’

  The clean, fresh smell of her struck some long-hidden chord within him so that for once he allowed himself to think of the green hills and sun-washed landscape of home—even though he had ring-fenced his memories and put them out of bounds. Exiled himself from it in all the ways that he could—so that even on his rare, duty visits home he didn’t allow nostalgia or sentiment to lure him.

  ‘What’s it like? Well, it is very beautiful. In fact, some people say it’s the most beautiful place on earth.’

  ‘So why…why live here, and not there?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ He wound a strand of blonde hair around his finger. ‘My brother lives there—and it’s a little too small for both of us.’

  He had a brother. She felt as if she had just discovered a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘We’re twins.’

  ‘Twins!’ She turned onto her tummy and looked at him. ‘Identical twins?’

  ‘Not really. Well, we…look the same,’ he said, and then gave a short laugh. ‘But no two men are identical, Cassandra—if you were a little more experienced, you’d know that.’

  Cassie registered the darkness which underpinned his voice. ‘You had some sort of fall-out?’ she guessed softly.

  Giancarlo looked into her eyes and suddenly had the strangest desire to tell her. Was it because pillow talk and secrets were the currency traditionally shared with a mistress—or because her place in his life was so temporary that telling her would have no impact on it? She didn’t mix in his circles and she never would. And hadn’t he buried the memory so deep that he was curious now to see what it would look like if he dragged it out into the cold and dispassionate light of day?

  ‘A fall-out? Yes, I guess you could say that.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Giancarlo swallowed because the acid taste of betrayal could still catch him unawares. Even now. He stared at the ceiling. ‘It all started soon after the death of our parents. My mother died when I was twelve—my father five years earlier.’

  ‘That must have been very hard,’ said Cassie softly.

  She had the kind of voice which soothed—which felt like balm on his troubled recall. ‘Yes. It was a lonely kind of childhood. Plenty of money but not much else.’
/>
  ‘And who looked after you?’

  ‘Oh, we had a series of guardians—aristocratic and intellectual men appointed by the estate who were supposed to educate us, and who we used to take pleasure in outwitting.’ He shrugged his broad, naked shoulders. ‘We were pretty much a law unto ourselves. And of course—we were fiercely competitive. Life was a constant battle to each prove ourselves—maybe to compensate for the lack of parental guidance.’

  His mouth hardened. And the lack of warmth, or softness, of course—for there had been no compensatory woman’s touch. No comfort or reassurance from the gentler sex given to two little rich boys who ran wild as gypsies.

  Giancarlo felt something like pain as memories came flooding back—more vivid than he had expected them to be. ‘Both Raul and I went to university in Rome. I read law and he read business. We were due to inherit the family estate when we turned twenty-one and we were going to work it between us.’

  He remembered Gabriella, too. Tiny and beautiful—with thick hair even blacker than his own and eyes like polished jet. Gabriella, the darling and beauty of the campus. The woman every man had wanted and she had wanted Giancarlo. Oh, yes. His competitive nature had been at first flattered and then seduced by her attention towards him. How he had basked in her adoration and the envy of his peers and how he had revelled in that hot, heady explosion of first love. For a while they became the golden couple—making plans for the future and the family they would make together. And then…

  ‘So what happened?’

  Cassie’s question broke into his thoughts. ‘We both qualified.’

  ‘Similar degrees?’

  ‘Mine was better.’ He shrugged. ‘And that is not a boast, but a fact. And that rankled with my brother. On our twenty-first birthday we were summoned into our lawyer’s office and told that Raul would inherit everything. The farms. The vineyards. The olive groves and the properties in Rome and Siena. The vast estates with which the Vellutini name was synonymous would all pass to him.’ He paused. ‘While I would receive precisely nothing.’

  Cassie stiffened as she heard the cold note which had entered his voice. ‘Nothing?’ she echoed, bewildered.

  ‘Niente,’ he confirmed and then emphasised the word again in English. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘But that’s terrible! Why?’

  Giancarlo knew then why he had buried the story. The words were still like bitter poison to say and the betrayal they evoked more bitter still. ‘Because we had been born by Caesarean section and Raul was plucked from our mother’s womb exactly two minutes before me.’ His voice roughened. ‘Making him the true heir to the Vellutini fortune.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Cassie breathed as she stared into the black brilliance of his eyes. ‘That’s…unbelievable!’

  ‘Have you never heard about primogeniture?’ he questioned softly. ‘The first-born’s right of inheritance. It’s pretty feudal—some might say primitive—but legally binding, all the same.’

  She let the words sink in, trying to imagine what she might have done if she’d been in his brother’s position. ‘But didn’t…Raul—feel morally obliged to share some of his good fortune with you?’

  Giancarlo’s lips curved into an acid smile as he remembered the look of unmistakable delight on his brother’s face—and the subsequent and insulting offer of a small, barren piece of land in Puglia, which he had rejected. ‘Not in any real sense, no. Sharing wasn’t really Raul’s thing. In fact, in the true spirit of sibling rivalry—and maybe to make up for all the times I’d beaten him—he decided that he still hadn’t got quite enough. So for good measure he also took Gabriella, the woman I was going to marry—although, to be fair, he didn’t have to try very hard. She liked the finer things in life and Raul was able to provide them for her. Why hang around with the twin who was going to have to work for his living when you could lead a life of luxury as a rich man’s wife?’

  Cassie bit back a gasp as she thought about the impact that must have had on him. Why, it must have been like a kick in the teeth—no money and, then, no girlfriend. His imagined future completely distorted. His pride trampled underfoot. And that might hit him harder than anything else, she realised—with a sudden flash of insight. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I came to England and worked for a law firm which specialised in Italian property deals. There weren’t many people in that field at the time and so I was in a strong position. At first I lived frugally, and worked hard—a habit which I’ve never quite lost. With the money I saved and the insider knowledge I gained I was eventually able to start buying property myself. And I was rather good at it—or, rather, I had a talent for spotting places ahead of the market. I bought in down-town New York before it became the fashionable thing to do. I speculated in areas of London which popular thinking said would never take off—but which soared. Buy low and sell high—it’s not an original concept, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. It’s how I built up my business into what it is today.’

  Cassie thought how animated his face had become as he’d talked about his business—it had been the most alive she’d seen it apart from when he was making love to her. She could see that it must have mended his wounded pride and brought him immense satisfaction to make money for himself, rather than having it easy by inheriting it. But Cassie’s question hadn’t really been about the money. She had been far more interested in the other part of the betrayal.

  ‘And what about your ex-girlfriend?’ she questioned carefully. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘Gabriella? Oh, she married my brother and they’re still together. In fact, they have a daughter and are living on the family estate.’

  Cassie stared into his face, searching for clues about how he felt but there was nothing other than the little flicker of a pulse at his temple and his voice sounded completely casual. Almost too casual. Did he still hanker after the woman who had betrayed him? she wondered. And was that betrayal the reason why he had never married—why a man as gorgeous as he was should live a life which seemed essentially lonely at its heart?

  ‘Oh, Giancarlo,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  At her unasked-for words of sympathy Giancarlo stilled, wondering why he had said so much—and why to her? Because she had that cute little way of asking—of widening her violet eyes—so that uncharacteristically he had found himself telling her? His mouth hardened. Well, she need not imagine that this was the first of many confidences he would share with her—or that she had found the key to ‘understanding’ him. He would tell her the truth and, although it might hurt her a little now, it would warn her off amassing much greater hurt in the future.

  ‘Please don’t waste your sorrow on me, Cassandra,’ he advised softly. ‘Don’t they say that it is hardship which hones the character? And can’t you see that it is immensely more satisfying to have made my own fortune than to have it bestowed on me by an accident of birth?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about…about the money,’ Cassie said hesitantly. ‘But more about your girlfriend.’

  Did she really imagine that he was still carrying a torch for the woman who had been nothing but an out-and-out gold-digger—someone who could be bought by the highest bidder? ‘Again, your sentiments are misplaced, Cassandra,’ he said silkily, his eyes glittering out a distinct warning. ‘You see, in many ways she did me a big favour. It taught me early in life the valuable lesson of never trusting a woman.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘WHAT is that monstrosity hanging on the front door?’

  Cassie waited until Giancarlo had put his briefcase down in the hall before drawing a deep breath. ‘It’s a Christmas wreath.’

  He turned to her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Forgive me, I phrased myself badly, bella. I know exactly what it is. I meant—what the hell is it doing there?’

  ‘I thought it looked…pretty.’

  ‘And I thought I told you that I don’t do Christmas.’

  Cassie swallowed. ‘I know you did—I just don’t under
stand why.’

  ‘Because it’s nothing but misrepresentation. It allows sentiment to masquerade as emotion, depicts unrealisti-cally happy families and dresses up greed as some sort of seasonal need.’

  ‘Bah-humbug!’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘It’s a joke. Something you say about people who don’t like Christmas. People like you.’

  ‘I think you’re missing the point, cara. When I say that I don’t like Christmas it means you should heed my words—not attempt to change my mind. Especially after a long day at work when I want to be greeted with nothing more controversial than a kiss.’

  Cassie moved into his arms. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Giancarlo saw that her lips had softened just the way they always did when he was about to kiss her—but he heard the unmistakable trace of defiance in her soft voice. ‘And anyway, where did you get the money to buy such a magnificent monstrosity—when you have refused point-blank to accept any funds from me?’ Her stubborn refusal to do so had at first made him suspicious—for he couldn’t believe that there was a woman alive who wouldn’t itch to be given free use of his credit card during her tenure as his mistress.

  He had tried insisting that she would need money—in order to go shopping. And that was when she had told him that she had no intention of doing anything as dull as shopping while she was installed in his London town house. That she could go shopping any time and she wasn’t particularly into consumerism. He remembered his surprise when he realised that she actually meant it. And that she intended spending her days enjoying the city for free—by visiting the many galleries and parks the capital had to offer.

  But now it seemed that Cassandra—who would sigh wistfully whenever they passed a tacky Christmas window display—had finally succumbed and given into the temptation of a seasonal wreath.

  ‘I made it,’ she said suddenly as his lips brushed against hers.

  ‘Made what?’

  ‘The wreath.’

  ‘You can’t have made it. It looks far too professional.’