But now, with the prospect of a romantic dinner together followed by a night in Niccolo’s bed, Dani was much less sure of the wisdom of accepting such an invitation…
She knew she had been right to have such misgivings when she joined Niccolo in the roof garden half an hour later, to find him sitting at a table beautifully laid with crystal and fine white linen. It was illuminated by several candles floating in a wide water bowl of gold, the only other lighting being several soft amber-coloured lamps that ran the length of the balustrade overlooking the Grand Canal.
Instead of joining Niccolo at the table, Dani moved to stand at that balustrade to gaze out over the breathtaking view that was Venice at night—majestically stunning with the moonlight and softly glowing streetlamps reflected in the water below, several gondolas gliding silently along its length.
Dani was once more so mesmerised, so enchanted, so moved by the beauty spread out before her, that she was incapable of verbally acknowledging Niccolo’s presence as he came to stand beside her.
‘It is magnificent, is it not?’ he murmured.
Magnificent barely described it! No wonder so many couples chose to come here for their honeymoon.
Just the thought of a honeymoon, a natural progression from the wedding that would have taken place before it, was enough to break Dani out of the spell that Venice—and Niccolo—had been so easily casting over her.
‘It’s very nice,’ she conceded dryly, before deliberately turning her back on the view that was seducing her senses. ‘Can we start dinner now? I’m absolutely starving!’ She didn’t even glance at Niccolo as she moved to the candlelit table and sat down.
Niccolo took his time joining her, his thoughts distracted. Daniella’s slightly distant manner told him that she was regretting her agreement to spend the night here with him. That doubt came as no surprise to him, because he had felt those doubts earlier too. But he had no intention, by word or deed, of increasing that uncertainty. He wanted her to enjoy this evening—was even willing to accept that she wouldn’t share his bed tonight after all, if that was what she ultimately decided. This was just too important—Daniella herself was too important—to his future happiness for him to ruin it all in one selfish night of need, of desire.
And so he deliberately set out to once more put Daniella at her ease, keeping his conversation light and well away from anything of a remotely emotional nature. Instead, as they ate, he drew her out to talk of her work as an interior designer. The enthusiasm with which she spoke of it, the pleasure in her face, told him of her deep satisfaction in her chosen career—which was one more thing standing in the way of Niccolo’s wish that she would eventually agree to marry him and come to live here with him in Venice.
‘I am not sure that I believe a woman could ever be that calculating!’ he teased, after Daniella broke off telling him a rather amusing story of a woman who had lain on her bed to make sure that she could reach out and adjust her newly installed lighting so that it reflected in the mirrors above and would increase the pleasure for herself and her lover.
‘Oh, I can assure you that some of them are,’ Dani confirmed, her cheeks colouring bright red as she realised that the single glass of champagne she had allowed herself with her meal seemed to have loosened her tongue. Discussing another couple making love was definitely not something she should be doing with Niccolo, of all people. But despite her earlier nervousness, she had found the evening so relaxing, and Niccolo such easy company, that she had temporarily let her guard down.
Not a good idea when the meal was almost over and the night was rapidly approaching!
‘I—This has been a wonderful evening, Niccolo. Thank you,’ she told him with stiff politeness.
Niccolo was instantly aware of the return of Daniella’s earlier doubts concerning the wisdom of the two of them spending the night together. While he had been totally captivated all evening by how beautiful Daniella looked, by how much he wanted to make love with her again, he’d already vowed to himself that he wouldn’t until she was absolutely sure that it was what she wanted, too…
‘I assure you, the pleasure has been all mine, Daniella,’ he told her honestly.
She gave him a quizzical look. ‘I’m curious to know why, when no one else does, you have always insisted on using my full name?’
Yes, he had—and deliberately so. Years ago, when Eleni had been so determined to remain at school in England with her new friend, and Niccolo had been just as determined that she would not, it had been his way of maintaining a disapproving formality between himself and Daniella. In latter years, he recognised ruefully, it had been for another reason entirely…
Niccolo easily held her gaze. ‘But I’m not the only one who does so, am I?’
Her frown deepened. ‘I don’t—Oh!’ She came to an abrupt halt, no longer relaxed. Her body stiffened. ‘You’re referring to my grandfather?’
Niccolo had indeed noticed the way in which Daniel Bell always referred to his granddaughter as Daniella when they’d met. He had also been very aware of the way in which the older man almost made it into an insult.
Niccolo reached across the table to cover her clenched hands with one of his own. ‘But not for the same reason, Daniella, I do assure you.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Dani looked across at him uncertainly. The last person she wanted to talk about this evening was her machinating grandfather—although it had certainly brought her back down to earth with a bump!
Niccolo smiled gently at her. ‘Unless I am very much mistaken, your grandfather uses your full name as a reminder that, despite being named for him, you are not the grandson he wanted.’
That was very astute of him after just a few hours’ acquaintance with her grandfather, Dani thought heavily. It had taken her until she was in her teens to understand that her grandfather was taunting not just herself but her mother, who hadn’t produced a male Bell heir. She grimaced. ‘And you, Niccolo? Why do you insist on calling me Daniella?’
Niccolo could feel the tension in her hands beneath his, and he curled his fingers about them to move his thumb lightly, caressingly, across her tightly clenched knuckles. Her tension was evidence, if Niccolo had needed it, that her grandfather’s disappointment that his only grandchild was a girl had been a constant source of hurt to her over the years.
‘Because, Daniella, unlike your grandfather,’ he said, ‘I take total delight in the fact that you are feminine.’
‘Oh!’ Daniella blinked her surprise at his compliment.
Niccolo felt his inner fury towards Daniel Bell grow in intensity. How dared he cause this beautiful woman—his woman, even though she hadn’t yet acknowledged it—a moment’s pain simply because her gender was not what he had wanted?
‘Don’t blame my grandfather too much, Niccolo,’ Daniella said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be disappointed, too, if the child I carry should turn out to be a girl and not the male heir you want—need—to carry on the D’Alessandro legacy.’
But Niccolo was an Italian, and to Italian men all children were loved and valued. His own parents, he knew, would have dearly liked more sons to carry on the D’Alessandro name, but after several miscarriages his mother had produced Eleni, thirteen years after Niccolo was born—a child who had been adored by all of them because to them she was a gift from God.
As the child Daniella carried was a treasured gift, regardless of whether it turn out to be a boy or a girl…
‘You do not know me well yet, Daniella,’ he told her quietly, and he stood up to move around the table to her side, gently pulling her to her feet so that she stood only inches away from him. ‘But never doubt that this child—’ he reached out and placed a hand possessively on the flatness of her stomach ‘—our child,’ he emphasised, ‘will be loved and wanted no matter what its gender.’
Dani’s breath caught in her throat, her vision misting with sudden tears. She knew he meant what he said, and that he would indeed love their child—perhaps even already loved their child—w
hether it was a boy or a girl. She was grateful for that—knew that it could have turned out very differently.
Though Niccolo didn’t just stop at declaring his love for their child, she reminded herself heavily. He was insisting on marrying the mother of his child too. But he didn’t love her, did he?
She stepped away from the warm possessiveness of his hand on her stomach, able to breathe again once Niccolo was no longer touching her. ‘That’s reassuring to know, Niccolo. Thank you,’ she said. ‘And I want you to know that this has been the most romantic evening of my life.’
He regarded her with dark, unfathomable eyes. ‘But…?’ he finally prompted.
She quirked her lips. ‘How clever of you to know there’s a “but”!’
He gave a humourless smile. ‘You have changed your mind about the two of us sharing a bed tonight, have you not?’
Dani looked at him warily. That was exactly what she had decided, and she wasn’t sure, despite the mildness of his tone, how he was going to react to being told.
She swallowed hard. ‘Are you going to be very angry if that turns out to be the case?’
Niccolo looked at her searchingly. Daniella expected his primary emotion to be anger that she had doubts about their spending the night together after all?
She turned away to walk over to the balustrade, her back towards him as she spoke. ‘Maybe if we had just made love this afternoon instead of waiting…’ She stopped and made an attempt to control her ragged breathing. Once she was sure she would be coherent she tried again. ‘I’ve had too much time to think, Niccolo. To realise…It really has been a wonderfully romantic evening.’ She turned to face him, her back firmly against the balustrade. ‘But now, if you don’t mind, I think I would like to go to my own bedroom and sleep alone.’ The last was added defensively.
Niccolo studied her beneath hooded lids. ‘You say that as if you think I might try to force the issue.’
‘Don’t be silly, Niccolo!’
But her laugh sounded false to his ears. He was becoming more and more convinced by the second that he was being far from silly, as she put it.
He very much doubted that there had been any other man in Daniella’s life in the two and a half years since the failure of her marriage…A marriage she had absolutely refused, on several occasions, to discuss with him. If he tried to talk to her about that marriage again now, would he succeed only in alienating her completely? Niccolo had a feeling that he might.
The relationship between the two of them was so very fragile. Too fragile for him to risk even attempting to discuss Daniella’s previous marriage with her now. But he made a promise to himself that he would learn the truth about that marriage at the earliest opportunity. Not from Eleni—because that would not be fair to either his sister or to Daniella. But he would find out the truth somehow.
He moved to Daniella’s side, his gaze gently holding hers as he reached out to clasp one of her hands in his before raising it to brush his lips lightly across the softness of her skin. ‘Of course I do not mind, Daniella, if that is your wish,’ he reassured her gruffly.
Contrarily, a shiver of awareness quivered down Dani’s spine as Niccolo’s lips touched the back of her hand, and she instantly felt disappointed at Niccolo’s easy acquiescence to her request to sleep alone tonight.
Her feelings made no sense whatsoever. Were completely illogical, considering she had been the one to say she would prefer not to sleep with him tonight.
But nevertheless, that feeling of disappointment persisted.
‘It is,’ she told him tersely as she snatched her hand from his grasp and moved sharply away from him. ‘I—I’ll wish you goodnight, then, Niccolo.’ She hesitated at the top of the stairs to look back at him.
‘Goodnight, Daniella.’ He hadn’t moved from where she had left him standing beside the balustrade, the expression in his gaze shadowed in darkness as the candles on the table flickered and died. ‘Sleep well,’ he murmured.
Dani gave him one last frowning glance before hurrying down the stairs to her bedroom on the next floor.
The bedroom that adjoined Niccolo’s.
A fact she became very aware of when, only minutes later, she heard him let himself into the adjoining room.
Dani sat down shakily on her brocade-covered bed, not sure that she was going to be able to sleep at all knowing Niccolo was only on the other side of that connecting door…
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I HAVE brought you morning tea, Daniella.’
Dani roused herself sleepily at the sound of Niccolo’s voice, extremely comfortable and warm beneath the bedcovers as she gazed up at him in the semi-darkness of her bedroom.
‘I remembered your aversion to coffee yesterday,’ he said as he stood beside the bed looking down at her.
‘That’s very kind of you.’ Dani smiled her gratitude.
If she wanted tea or coffee in bed in the morning in London then she had to get up herself and prepare it. And asking any of the staff at the house in Gloucestershire for morning tea or coffee was frowned upon by her grandfather, when they were all perfectly fit and well enough to go down to the breakfast room for it.
She moved to sit up against the downy pillows. The gold brocade curtains were drawn across the huge French doors that led out onto the balcony, shutting out the view, making it impossible for her to tell what time of day it was.
Dani had tossed and turned in the bed for at least an hour the previous evening before falling asleep, and—unusually—she’d had to get up a couple of hours ago in order to be violently ill. She was feeling much better now, even more so after washing her face and brushing her teeth. Obviously this was the start of the dreaded morning sickness!
Still, she felt much better after a couple of hours’ more sleep, and the tea sounded very inviting.
‘Er—would you care to join me?’ she offered as she turned, her eyesight having become accustomed to the semi-darkness, and found that there were two cups on the tray.
‘Thank you,’ Niccolo accepted, before moving to pick up the chair from in front of the dressing table and setting it down next to the bed. He lowered his long length into it, dressed casually this morning, in faded denims and a black cashmere sweater, his thick hair brushed back from his face.
‘What time is it?’ Dani asked lightly, in an effort not to feel self-conscious as her cream lace camisole top became visible above the bedclothes as she turned to pour the tea. Pregnant with Niccolo’s baby, she would look slightly ridiculous pulling the covers up to her chin like some shy virgin!
‘Almost ten o’clock,’ Niccolo told her with satisfaction.
‘In that case, shouldn’t you be at work by now?’ Dani frowned as she handed him a cup of tea before picking up her own cup and sipping gratefully. It tasted wonderful!
Niccolo shrugged broad shoulders as he added milk and a spoonful of sugar to his cup. ‘I thought the two of us could spend the day together.’
‘Oh, but…’ Dani shook her head. ‘I’m supposed to be flying back to England today,’ she said doubtfully.
Niccolo nodded. ‘And when you are ready to return to England the D’Alessandro jet will be at your disposal.’
Dani knew all about the family-owned D’Alessandro jet, and remembered teasing Eleni about the sheer luxury of it during their university years, when her friend had made frequent visits home to Venice in it. But Dani had never imagined flying in it herself…
Daniella even looked beautiful first thing in the morning, Niccolo thought distractedly, with her hair fluffed about her face in delicate disarray, her eyes like huge green pools in a face bare of make-up, and the creamy curve of her breasts visible above the low neckline of the lacy camisole she wore. If anything, he wanted her more this morning than he had the previous evening—as the hardening of his body was alerting him all too forcibly!
He shifted restlessly in the narrow confines of the bedroom chair. ‘You have a problem with that arrangement?’ he asked as he saw her fr
own.
‘Not at all,’ she assured him with a husky laugh. ‘I was just musing on the luxury of owning your own jet and being able to fly wherever you want, whenever you want.’
‘It is the D’Alessandro family that owns its own jet,’ he corrected her, with his own frown as he sensed disapproval in her remark.
‘Niccolo, as we both know only too well, you are the D’Alessandro family!’ she teased.
Yes, he was. But he was also Niccolo. And as Niccolo he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the physical arousal he felt just looking at Daniella’s flushed semi-nakedness.
He was thirty-seven years old, for heaven’s sake, and had known many women in his adult life. Yet none of them had ever affected him in the way that Daniella did now just looking at her.
He stood up abruptly—at once realising his mistake as his body instantly betrayed his arousal. He would have to excuse himself. He did not dare risk alarming Daniella with this physical evidence of his desire—
‘Niccolo?’
As Dani’s eyes became more accustomed to the semi-darkness, the more she was able to discern. And at this moment, as she looked at Niccolo from beneath lowered lashes, she was completely aware of the hard arousal of his body. Her own body answered that arousal and her breasts seemed to swell, the nipples tingling into sudden awareness against the softness of her camisole.
Niccolo didn’t reply, but he made no effort to disguise the heat that darkened his eyes or the flush against those hard cheekbones as he tightly clenched his jaw.
Dani swallowed hard, knowing that whatever happened next—or didn’t happen—it was completely her choice. She knew from Niccolo’s gentlemanly behaviour last night that he would not try to initiate anything between them that she didn’t absolutely want.
At this moment she knew she wanted him.
Badly!
The reason for her initial sleeplessness last night had been a half-hope, half-dread, that there would be a knock on the communicating door announcing that Niccolo had changed his mind about leaving her to spend the night alone. When the knock hadn’t come, Dani hadn’t known whether she was relieved or disappointed!
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