His Private Mistress

by Shaw Chantelle

  He had commitments; she knew that. The time between races was as crucial as the race itself as he worked closely with the designers and engineers to perfect the car’s performance. Now he had the added pressure of heading the Santini business interests. He’d explained that his father had suffered a mild stroke, possibly brought on by the devastation of Gianni’s suicide, and Fabrizzio was determined to hand over the reins of power to his remaining son and heir.

  She understood all of that, so why did the demon in her head whisper that nothing had changed, that their relationship was based on sex, and nothing else? She was acting like a spoilt child, she told herself. Rafe had always lived his life at a furious pace, both on and off the track; she couldn’t realistically have expected things to be any different. She hadn’t been happy four years ago, but then she had lacked the confidence to tell him. If their relationship was to stand a chance, she would have to speak out and fight for the kind of life she wanted before her self-respect was eroded as it had been once before.

  He arrived back at the villa in time for lunch, and as he strolled across the terrace her heart flipped. He looked utterly gorgeous in chinos and a cream shirt that was open at the throat to reveal an expanse of dark chest hair. With his designer shades and the chunky gold Rolex on his wrist he was every inch the millionaire playboy, not a man who would be content to settle for a life of domestic harmony, she conceded sadly.

  ‘Buon giorno, cara,’ he greeted, leaning down to capture her mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss that drove everything but him from her mind. ‘What have you been doing this morning?’

  ‘Swimming, reading…’ She kept her tone deliberately light. ‘The exercise and sunshine are good for my leg. The scars are definitely fading a bit.’

  He settled on the edge of her sun lounger and ran his hand gently over her injured leg. ‘Good, I’m glad for you, but I told you, if the scars upset you I’ll arrange an appointment with the best plastic surgeon I can find.’

  ‘Do you want me to have surgery?’ she asked curiously. He told her endlessly that she was beautiful with or without her scars, but surely, if he was honest, he would prefer her to have the perfect, smooth limbs she’d once had.

  He removed his sunglasses and trapped her gaze, a wealth of gentle emotion in his dark eyes. ‘If I’m honest…no. Your scars are part of you, an important reminder of the brave and fearless woman you are. You are perfect to me, cara,’ he murmured deeply, and tears burned behind her eyelids as he bent his head and trailed a line of kisses along each of the welts that criss-crossed her leg.

  His lips moved on upwards over her thighs and she held her breath as he dipped his tongue into the sensitive hollow of her navel. The tenure of his caresses changed and she stirred restlessly on the lounger as he unhooked the clasp of her halter-neck bikini and drew the triangles of material down so that her breasts were exposed to his gaze.

  ‘Sophia said she would bring lunch out onto the terrace,’ Eden murmured distractedly, finding it hard to think when he cupped each breast in his hands, his olive-skinned fingers splayed in stark relief against the whiteness of her flesh.

  ‘I told her to wait a while,’ he said, his voice laced with amusement and a fierce sexual excitement she had only belatedly recognised.

  ‘But I’m hungry,’ she reproached, not bothering to disguise the wicked gleam in her eyes, ‘aren’t you?’

  ‘Starving, cara,’ he groaned as he pushed her breasts together, his tongue drawing wet circles around each aureole before he took one hard nub into his mouth. ‘Feed me!’

  She was on fire for him, desperate for him to discard her bikini pants in the same way that he had done the top, but instead he sat up and ran his fingers down her body, stroking insistently against the clinging Lycra until molten heat flooded between her thighs.

  ‘Rafe! Please…now.’ She couldn’t wait much longer. He hadn’t even touched her intimately, yet she could feel the first delicious spasm of pleasure rip through her and the desire to feel him inside her had spiralled into a desperate, clawing need. Still he sat looking down at her, his eyes hooded as he watched the expression on her face, saw her desperation.

  ‘Lift your hips,’ he commanded, his voice as thick as treacle slowly trickling over her, and when she obeyed he pulled her briefs off with quiet intent and ran his hands over her thighs, parting them so that her ankles hung over either side of the lounger. He stood then and stripped, not hurrying, his eyes locked with hers, and she thought she would die with anticipation when he finally lowered himself onto her and entered her with a hard, deliberate thrust. He moved deep within her and then withdrew almost completely so that she gasped his name and dug her nails into his shoulders, urging him to fill her again and matching his steady rhythm. She was so turned on that her control stood no chance and she tipped her head back to stare up at the cloudless sky as sensation built, wave upon wave, her muscles contracting around him, her climax so intense that she sobbed his name and clung on for dear life. He paused momentarily, poised above her, his brow beaded with sweat as he fought for control, and when her first spasms eased he moved again, pumping into her, harder, faster, until he could no longer hold back and felt the glory of release as he spilled inside her.

  The sound of his mobile phone shattered the exquisite peace and Eden held her breath as, for a few seconds, Rafe ignored it. He stared into her eyes, his frustration evident, and then muttered an oath and snatched it up.

  ‘Papa.’ Instantly he reverted to his native, voluble Italian that Eden couldn’t understand, even if she was interested, which she was not. Most of Rafe’s phone conversations were with his father and Fabrizzio demanded his son’s attention at any hour of the day or, more usually, night. Eden could almost believe he was watching them, somehow spying on them, determined to intrude on the few precious hours they spent alone, and she knew with absolute certainty that Fabrizzio was far from happy about her place in Rafe’s life.

  She wriggled off the lounger, slid her arms into her robe and headed for the cool of the villa. A shower, something to eat and an afternoon doing…well, she’d think of something, she reassured herself. Rafe would no doubt go to the Santini offices at the behest of his father.

  He was waiting in their bedroom when she padded through from the ensuite, her hair wrapped in a towel.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. My father—’

  ‘You don’t have to explain, I know he’s been ill and that you’re busy.’

  ‘Not usually this busy,’ Rafe murmured, his frown deepening as he swung away from her to stare out of the window. She looked gorgeous, pink and soft, wrapped in a fluffy towel, and he would like nothing better than to unwrap her, inch by delectable inch, and tumble her onto the bed. Their loving would be slow and sensuous this time, but as he felt his body harden in eager anticipation he shut his eyes and willed his hormones into line. Fabrizzio wanted him in the office, ostensibly to go through some paperwork that had suddenly been elevated to urgent, although he couldn’t understand the reason why.

  For the first time in his life he resented the demands Fabrizzio made. If he was honest, he resented anything and anyone that took him away from Eden, and even the hours at the test track suddenly seemed a chore. At the back of his mind lurked the accusation Eden had made that his father had despised and insulted

  her. At first he’d angrily discounted her suggestion that Fabrizzio had actively sought to wreck their relationship and had even involved Gianni in his plans.

  She must have been mistaken, he assured himself. She had been young and shy; quite possibly she’d felt in awe of Fabrizzio’s dominant personality and imagined his dislike. His father had always been courteous towards her, hadn’t he? It was true he hadn’t welcomed her with open arms, but then he’d never hidden his hope that his eldest son would marry an Italian girl. A girl like Valentina de Domenici!

  ‘I have a few days clear before the Indianapolis Grand Prix,’ he said as he watched her dress. ‘I thought we could explore Venice.’


  ‘Really?’ Pleasure glowed in her eyes before her lashes swept down to conceal her emotions. ‘Don’t you have things to do? Your father…’

  ‘Can manage without me for a few days. Four years ago I made the mistake of not spending enough time with you. I don’t want to go down that route again, but I’m afraid I’ll be out for the rest of today.’

  ‘Luckily I have a good book,’ she said cheerfully, as she anticipated the pleasure of a few whole days and nights of his exclusive company in Venice.

  ‘You could go out,’ he muttered, wishing he could stay with her and they could barricade themselves in against the rest of the world. ‘You could go shopping.

  Milan is world-renowned for its exclusive boutiques and most women like to shop,’ he finished on a note of frustration that she didn’t fit the mould.

  ‘You said you liked me because I’m different,’ she reminded him with a smile.

  ‘I’m not interested in your money, Rafe,’ she told him softly as she linked her arms around his neck. ‘I’m just interested in you.’

  Venice had lived up to its reputation as one of the world’s most romantic cites, Eden mused as she stretched beneath the tangled sheets and stared up at the ornate carvings that decorated the four-poster bed. She would have been content to remain at the villa, but Rafe was determined to honour a promise he’d made four years before and they’d spent a blissful few days exploring the network of canals that wound through the city.

  While the days had been spent absorbing the rich history and culture of Venice, the nights had been no less energetic, and Eden’s body ached pleasurably. Rafe’s desire for her was like a bottomless well, but she wasn’t complaining, and even though he had made love to her several times during the night she smiled at the memory of how he liked to spend his mornings. She rolled over, her smile fading when she discovered the bed empty.

  A breeze lifted the voile curtain and she glimpsed him, sitting on one of the ornate chairs on the balcony where they ate breakfast each morning.

  ‘You’re up early,’ she murmured, coming to stand behind him and sliding her arms over his shoulders.

  He made no reply but caught hold of one of her hands and held it to his mouth, his lips warm against the pulse point at her wrist.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he murmured at last, and she felt a frisson of apprehension run the length of her spine. Thinking had an ominous ring to it.

  ‘About the past, you and Gianni,’ he added quietly.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed to live firmly in the present, but there never was a me and Gianni. I wasn’t kissing him by the pool that night and I didn’t have an affair with him.’

  ‘I believe you, cara,’ he said heavily. ‘I should have known then that you would never lie. You’re the most transparent person I’ve ever met. You don’t keep secrets, not from me. Your mind is as clear as a crystal pool.’

  She hoped it wasn’t that clear: there was one secret she could never reveal.

  Love didn’t enter into their relationship and she refused to embarrass both of them with the declaration that he was the love of her life.

  ‘I owe you an apology.’ He stood and drew her into his arms, his hands gentle as he stroked her hair. ‘I don’t know why Gianni wanted to break us up, all I can think is that he wanted you for himself and his feelings were so strong that he was prepared to sacrifice his bond with me.’ He paused and she felt his lips on her brow, trailing over her cheek to rest at the corner of her mouth. ‘We lost four years. Because of him I threw away something that was very precious to me.

  You,’ he told her when she could only stare at him in stunned silence. ‘I trusted his word over yours, but I can’t hate him for what he did. Madre de Dio, Eden, despite the hurt he caused us both, I still wish he was here and I still miss him.’

  ‘I know,’ she cried as she flung her arms round him and held him tight. ‘I don’t hate Gianni and I certainly don’t expect you to. He was your brother. I saw how close the two of you were.’

  ‘But why did he try so hard to wreck the thing that made me so happy—my

  relationship with you? He knew how I felt about you.’

  ‘I don’t know, but he must have had a good reason because he idolised you, Rafe.’ Someone must have persuaded Gianni to lie, she thought silently, and she had a pretty good idea of who that someone was, but she could hardly voice her suspicions about Fabrizzio to Rafe again—he was already hurting enough. ‘It’s over now,’ she murmured against his neck, ‘and despite everything, we’ve found our way back to each other. I think we should let Gianni and his secrets rest in peace.’

  He kissed her then, an evocative caress that stirred her soul with its tenderness, and she wound her arms round his neck as he lifted her and carried her through to the bedroom.

  ‘I think your suggestion that we concentrate on the present rather than the past is an excellent idea,’ he told her as he laid her on the sheets and untied the belt of her robe to part the material with deliberate intent. She said nothing, but her eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly as she watched him shrug out of his own robe and come down on the bed beside her.

  ‘You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, Rafe,’ she whispered, aware that she was in danger of revealing too much, but unable to stop herself. For a few moments she’d witnessed the utter devastation he felt at Gianni’s death, a sadness that was now compounded by the realisation that his brother had lied to him, and she wanted to comfort him, show him she cared.

  He stilled at her words and then ran his hands lightly over her body, gently nudging her legs apart, and she held her breath as he knelt beside her, feeling the warmth of his breath on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

  ‘Then I’d better make sure the situation stays that way, cara mia,’ he teased, and proceeded to use his tongue with such devastating effect that she was lost to everything but the mastery of his touch.

  Rafe dropped the bombshell as his private jet circled over Milan, preparing to land. He’d spent most of the flight with his mobile phone clamped to his ear and, although she’d been unable to understand much of his conversation, Eden gathered from the terseness of his voice that he wasn’t happy. Their few blissful days together were over and reality was pounding on the door.

  ‘I’m hosting a dinner party at the villa tonight, nothing too grand, just a handful of business associates.’

  Eden stared at him, unable to hide her dismay. ‘How big is a handful?’

  He gave a careless shrug. ‘Twenty or so guests.’

  ‘Do you think you could have given me a little more notice?’ she demanded, the surge of panic that swept through her making her snappy. ‘How am I going to organise a dinner party in a couple of hours? You know I can’t cook.’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything, cara. It’s Sophia’s job to deal with these things, and out of kindness to her I ask that you keep well away from the kitchen.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Eden said huffily. She might be a hopeless cook but he didn’t have to emphasise the point. She felt hurt that he hadn’t found it necessary to consult her. It brought home how unimportant she was in his life. He didn’t need her, that much was obvious, especially when he had his unflappable housekeeper to deal with his domestic arrangements. She felt like a spare part, superfluous to requirements except in the bedroom, and he couldn’t have shouted any louder that to him she was simply his mistress. ‘I still think you might have warned me,’ she muttered, and he sighed.

  ‘I didn’t know myself. My father only sprang it on me this morning that he’d arranged for the dinner to take place at the villa rather than his own home.’

  Fabrizzio, again—Eden sniffed. ‘Does he often do things like that, expect you to be constantly at his beck and call?’

  Never before, was the truthful answer, and Rafe stared moodily out of the window as the limousine whisked them back to the villa. ‘My father’s been ill, the heart scare last year shook him, and he’s no longer a young man,’ he told
her shortly. ‘It’s understandable that he wants me to increase my involvement in the Santini business. I can’t race forever and, now that Gianni’s gone, I am the sole heir.’

  His phone rang again, demanding his attention for the remainder of the journey, and he gave her a distracted glance when they arrived at the villa.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about a thing, cara. Everything’s taken care of. Why don’t you relax by the pool for a couple of hours until the guests arrive?’

  ‘Next you’ll be patting my bottom and telling me not to bother my pretty little head,’ she snapped furiously. ‘I know where I’m not wanted, Rafe. I’ll just keep out of the way. Are you sure you can put up with my embarrassing presence at dinner, or would you rather send a bowl of gruel up to my room later?’

  ‘Dio! You have developed the tongue of a viper,’ he roared, his temper exploding like a volcanic eruption, his accent very pronounced as he rounded on her. ‘Four years ago you would never have—’

  ‘Answered back?’ she suggested sweetly, and received a furious glare.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you know earlier about the dinner party,’ he stated more quietly as he took a deep breath. ‘But it’s only for a few hours, and you’re behaving like a spoilt child.’

  ‘I know,’ she yelled. She really didn’t need him to point it out so she swung her back on him and marched out to the pool. As she passed him he made to stop her, but his phone rang again and, with a torrent of Italian words that she guessed she wouldn’t find in the dictionary, he let her go.

  It took twenty lengths of energetic swimming before Eden’s temper dissipated, and she must have fallen asleep on the sun lounger, waking with a start to discover that it was six o’clock. Rafe’s guests were arriving at seven, she remembered with a groan as she hurried up the steps of the villa. She needed to shower and do something with her hair. If she was going to be paraded in public as Rafe’s mistress, she was determined, for the sake of her self-respect, to look as good as possible.