And for Raul, what should have been too slow, the touch of her tongue too light, somehow she owned the night.
The slight choking in her throat closing around him brought him close to release, so that he was grateful for the sudden buzzing and it was Raul who was briefly distracted.
Lydia wasn’t.
She was lost in the taste of him when for the second time that night—but for a very different reason—she felt a tug on her hair and looked up.
Now when she licked her lips it was to savour the taste of him.
And Raul, who did not want this to be over, put her to bed.
On top of it.
Raul was decisive in his positioning of Lydia, and her loose limbs were his to place.
He knelt astride her and put her arms above her head, held them one-handed as the other hand played with the breast he wasn’t sucking.
‘Raul...’ She was about to tell him about her virginal status, but her phone buzzed again and he thought that was her complaint.
‘Shush...’
And then he moved so that he knelt between her legs, and reached to the bedside drawer for a condom, and she lay there watching as he rolled it on.
‘Raul...’ Her voice was breathless, but she should say it now—she was trying to.
‘You talk too much.’
She had said two words and both had been his name. She went to point that out but lost her thought processes as his head went down between her legs and she lay holding her breath and nervously awaiting his intimate touch.
He kissed her exactly as he had the first time.
Raul’s mouth lightly pressed there, and then there was the tease of his tongue. Slowly at first, as Lydia had been slow, for he thought she had been teasing him at the time.
‘Please...’ Lydia said, not sure if she was asking to speak, asking him to slow down or asking for more.
His jaw was rough, his mouth soft and his tongue probing. It was sublime.
His mouth worked on and she started to moan.
His tongue urged her on.
Lydia’s thighs were shaking and she fought to stay silent. And then she gave in, and he moaned in pleasure as she orgasmed. He kissed her and swallowed as she pulsed against his lips.
And then he left them.
She was heated and twitching, breathless and giddy and perfectly done as he moved over her and crushed her tense lips with his moist ones. His thigh moved between her legs and splayed her, and even coming down from a high, with the feel of him nudging and the energy of him, Lydia knew this would hurt.
‘Slowly,’ she said, but her words were muffled, so she turned her head. ‘I’ve never—’
He was about to aim for hard, fast and deep, when he heard those two words that were so unexpected.
‘Slowly,’ she said again.
He could do that.
An unseen smile stretched his lips at the thought of taking her first, practically beneath Bastiano’s nose. And then the thought of taking her first made his ardour grow.
But then, just when bliss appeared on the menu, the stars seemed to collect and become one that shone too bright. And, like a headmaster grabbing an errant student by the shoulder, he suddenly hauled himself back from the edge.
Everything went still.
All the delicious sensations, gathering tight, slowly loosened as his weight came down on her rather than within her.
And then he rolled off and onto his back and lay breathless, unsated, both turned on and angry.
He told her why. ‘I don’t do virgins.’
There was so much she could protest at about that statement.
Do?
And her response was tart, to cover up her disappointment and, yes, her embarrassment that he had brought things to a very shuddering halt.
‘What, only experienced applicants need apply?’
‘Don’t you get it?’ He ripped off the condom and tossed it aside, and ached to finish the job. ‘There’s nothing to apply for, Lydia. I like one-night stands. I like to get up in the morning and have coffee and then go about my day. It’s sex. That’s it. There are no vacant positions waiting to be filled in my life.’
‘I wasn’t expecting anything more.’
‘You say that now.’
And now Raul sulked.
He had heard it so many times before.
Raul didn’t do virgins, and with good reason—because even the most seasoned of his lovers tended to ask for more than he was prepared to give.
‘I mean it,’ Lydia insisted.
‘Do you know what, Lydia? If you’ve waited till you’re twenty-four I’m guessing there’s a reason.’
There was—she’d hardly had men beating down the door.
But a small voice was telling her that Raul, as arrogant as his words were, was actually right—making love would change things for her.
Then again, since she had met Raul everything had already changed.
‘Go to sleep,’ he said.
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, Lydia, you can.’
His voice was sulky, and she didn’t know what he meant, but as she lay there Lydia started to understand.
She felt a little as if she was floating.
All the events of the night were dancing before her eyes, and she could watch them unfold without feeling—except for one.
‘What happened to your back?’
Her voice came from that place just before she fell asleep. Raul knew that.
Yet he wished she had not asked.
Lydia had not asked about one scar but about his whole back.
He did not want to think about that.
But now he was starting to.
CHAPTER SIX
‘IT’S YOUR MOTHER’S FUNERAL,’ the priest admonished, but only once Raul had been safely cuffed and led away.
Raul and Bastiano, the police decided, should not be in the same building, so Raul was taken to the jailhouse to cool down and Bastiano was cuffed to a stretcher and taken to the valley’s small hospital.
A towel covered Raul’s injury, and he sat in a cell until a doctor came to check on him.
Raul loathed anyone seeing his back, due to the scars his father had put there, but thankfully the doctor didn’t comment on them. He took one look at the gaping wound and shook his head.
‘This is too big to repair under a local,’ the doctor informed him. ‘I’ll tell the guards to arrange your transfer to the hospital.’
‘Is Bastiano still there?’ Raul asked, and the doctor nodded. ‘Then you’ll do it here.’
The thought of being in the same building as Bastiano tonight was not one he relished, and a hospital was no place for his current mood.
‘It’s going to hurt,’ the doctor warned.
But Raul already did.
The closure of the wound took ages.
He felt the fizz and sear of the peroxide as it bubbled its way through raw flesh, and then came the jab of the doctor’s fingers as he explored it.
‘I really think...’ the doctor started, but Raul did not change his stance.
‘Just close it.’
Deep catgut sutures closed the muscles and then thick silk finally drew together the skin.
He was written up for some painkillers to be taken throughout the night when required, but he did not bother to ask the guards for them.
Nothing could dim the pain.
It was not the wounds of the flesh that caused agony, more the memories and regret.
He should have known what was going on.
His mother’s more cheerful disposition on his last visit was because she’d had a lover. Raul knew that now.
And there was guilt too—tangible guilt—because
she had called him on the morning she had died and Raul had not picked up.
Instead he had been deep in oblivion with some no-name woman and had chosen not to take the call.
Raul lay on the hard, narrow bed and stared at the ceiling through the longest night of his life.
There would be many more to come.
Light came in through the barred windows and he heard a drunk who had sung the night through being processed and released.
And then another.
Raul was in no rush for his turn.
‘Hey.’
The heavy door opened and a police officer brought him coffee. He was familiar.
Marco.
They had been at school together.
‘For what it’s worth, I’m on your side,’ Marco told Raul as he handed him a coffee. ‘Bastiano’s a snake. I wish they had let you finish the job.’
Raul said nothing—just accepted the coffee.
God, but he hated the valley. There was corruption at every turn. If memory served him correctly, and it usually did, Bastiano had slept with the young woman who was now Marco’s fiancée.
Just after nine Raul signed the papers for his release and Marco handed him his tie and belt, which Raul pocketed.
‘Smarten up,’ Marco warned him. ‘You are to be at the courthouse by ten.’
Raul put on his belt and tucked in his shirt somewhat but gave up by the time he got to his tie. One look in the small washroom mirror and he knew it was pointless. His eyes were bruised purple, his lips swollen, his hair matted with blood and he needed to shave.
Groggy, his head pounding, Raul stepped out onto the street into a cruelly bright day and walked the short distance to the courthouse. Raul assumed he was there to be formally charged, but instead he found out it was for the reading of Maria Di Savo’s last will and testament.
His father, Gino, was there for that, of course. And he sat gloating, because he knew that apart from the very few trinkets he had given her in earlier years everything Maria had had was his.
Raul just wanted it over and done with, and then he would get the hell out.
He was done with Casta for good.
But then, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, the man he hated most in the world appeared—again at the most inappropriate time.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’
It was Gino who rose in angry response as an equally battered Bastiano took a seat on a bench. His face had been sutured and a jagged scar ran the length of his now purple cheek. Clearly he had just come from the hospital, for he was still wearing yesterday’s suit.
And then the judge commenced the reading of the will.
This was a mere formality, and Raul simply hoped he might get the crucifix Maria had always worn.
That wish came true, for he was handed a slim envelope and the simple cross and chain fell onto his palm.
But then out slid a ring.
It was exquisite—far more elaborate than anything his mother had owned—rose gold with an emerald stone, it was dotted with tiny seed pearls and it felt heavy in his palm. Raul picked it up between finger and thumb and tried to place it, yet he could not remember his mother wearing it.
He was distracted from examining the ring when the judge spoke again.
‘Testamona Segreto.’
Even the rather bored court personnel stood to attention, as suddenly there was an unexpected turn in the formalities.
Raul stopped looking at the ring and Gino frowned and leant forward as all present learnt that his mother had made a secret will.
More intriguing was the news that it been amended just a few short weeks ago.
A considerable sum had been left to Maria on the death of her brother, Luigi, on condition that it did not in any way benefit Maria’s husband.
Luigi had loathed Gino.
But Luigi had died some ten years ago.
Most shocking for Raul was the realisation that his mother had had the means to leave.
Raul had been working his butt off, trying to save to provide for her, when she could have walked away at any time.
It made no sense.
Nothing in his life made sense any more.
And then Raul felt a pulse beat a tattoo in his temples as the judge read out his mother’s directions.
‘The sum is to be divided equally between my son Raul Di Savo and Bastiano Conti. My hope is that they use it wisely. My prayer is that they have a wonderful life.’
Raul sat silent as pandemonium broke out in the courthouse. Money was Gino’s god, and this betrayal hit harder than the other. He started cursing, and as he moved to finish off Raul’s work on Bastiano, Security were called.
‘He gets nothing!’ Gino sneered, and jabbed his finger towards Bastiano. ‘Maria was sick in the head—she would not have known what she was doing when she made that will.’
‘The testimonial is clear,’ the judge responded calmly as Gino was led out.
‘Bastiano used her. Tell him that we will fight...’ Gino roared over his shoulder.
Raul said nothing in response—just sat silent as his mother’s final wishes sank in.
She had chosen Bastiano as the second benefactor and had asked that her money be divided equally...
Oh, that stung.
He looked over at Bastiano, who stared ahead and refused to meet his gaze.
Why the hell had she left it to him? Had Bastiano known about the money and engineered the entire thing? Had he sweet-talked her into changing her will and then deliberately exposed their affair, knowing that the fragile Maria could never survive the fallout?
Gino was still shouting from the corridor. ‘I stood by her all these years!’
Raul sat thinking. He knew he could contest this in court—or he could wait till he and Bastiano were outside and fight. This time to the bloody end.
He chose the latter.
Outside, the sun seemed to chip at his skull and he felt like throwing up—and then Bastiano stepped out, also wincing at the bright afternoon sun.
‘So,’ Raul said by way of greeting, ‘the gossip in the valley was wrong.’ He watched as Bastiano’s brow creased in confusion, and then he better explained. ‘As it turns out—you were the whore.’
The court attendees spilled out onto the street, the guards hovered, and a police vehicle drove slowly past. Raul saw that Marco was at the wheel.
As it slid out of sight Raul knew that if Marco was summoned to a fight outside the courthouse the response time would be slow.
They stared at each other.
Raul’s black eyes met Bastiano’s silver-grey and they shared their mutual loathing.
‘Your mother...’ Bastiano started, and then, perhaps wisely, chose not to continue—though that did not stop Raul.
‘Are you going to tell me to respect her wishes?’ Raul sneered. ‘You knew she had this money—you knew...’ He halted, but only because his voice was close to faltering and he would not allow Bastiano to glimpse weakness.
He would beat Bastiano with more than his fists.
Raul cleared his throat and delivered his threat, low but strong, and for Bastiano’s ears only. ‘Collect promptly...pay slowly.’
It was an old Italian saying, but it came with different meaning on this day.
Bastiano might have collected promptly today, but he would pay.
And slowly.
Their eyes met, and though nothing further was said it was as if Raul had repeated those words and he watched as his threat sank in.
Raul would keep his word—the vow he had made by his mother’s grave.
Every day he would fight Bastiano—not with fists but with action, and so, to the chagrin of the gathered crowd, who wanted the day to en
d in blood, Raul walked away.
Bastiano might have got a payout today, but Raul would take his mother’s inheritance and build a life from it far away from here.
And in the process he would destroy Bastiano at every opportunity.
Revenge would be his motivator now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LYDIA KNEW EXACTLY where she was even before her eyes had opened.
There was constant awareness of him, even in sleep. Hearing his deep breathing and feeling his warm, sleeping body beside her, Lydia thought it was the nicest awakening she had ever had.
She chose not to stretch, or pull herself out of this slumberous lull. The mattress felt like a cloud, and the room was the perfect temperature, because even with the bedding around her waist she was warm.
Raul’s back did not make pleasant viewing.
Oh, it was muscled, and his shoulders were wide, and his black hair narrowed neatly into the nape of his neck. All was perfect except for the scars.
And there were a lot of them.
There was the ugly, thick vertical one that was untidy and jagged and ran from mid-shoulder to waist.
But there were others that ran across his back.
Thin white lines...row upon row.
She had asked him about his back last night.
Lydia lay there trying to recall his answer.
There hadn’t been one.
And she did not ask with words this time—instead with touch, for while she had been looking at his back her fingers had inadvertently gone there.
Raul felt the question in her touch and loathed the fact that he had fallen to sleep on his side, and he rolled onto his back.
‘I’m sorry I asked,’ Lydia said.
‘Then why did you?’
‘Because when I’m with you I seem to forget to be polite.’
A phone rang, and this time it wasn’t Lydia’s. The battery had finally given out.
Raul reached over and swore, even before he had answered the call and then he spoke for a few minutes and lay back down—but this time he faced her.
‘We overslept.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Midday.’
Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Did you miss your plane?’
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