‘No, it is missing me. That’s why Allegra rang. She’s going to reschedule.’
He stared at her and Lydia found out then why she had thrown herself at him last night.
It was the correct response to those black eyes, Lydia realised, because her desire was still the same.
‘Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a virgin.’
‘It’s a miracle you still are.’
She didn’t want to be, though.
How heavenly to be made love to by him, Lydia thought, though she said not a word.
He reached out a hand and moved her hair back from her face, and still nothing was said. Lydia liked sharing this silent space with him.
No demands—just silence.
He thought again of all she’d told him—how she had sat at breakfast yesterday and given him that dark piece of her past.
And they were back in that place, together again, only this time it was Raul who spoke.
‘I got into a fight at my mother’s funeral. At the cemetery.’
‘Oh, dear.’
She smiled—not a happy one, just a little smile at their differences.
And he gave a thin smile too.
‘With whom?’ Lydia asked.
‘Her lover.’
And it was at that moment, when he didn’t name Bastiano, that Raul, for the first time, properly lied.
Oh, last night it had technically been a lie by omission. She had been angry and confused and there had been good reason for him not to disclose. But now they were in bed together, facing each other and talking as if they were lovers, and Raul knew at his base that he should at that moment have told her.
Yet he did not want her to turn away.
Which she would.
Of course she would.
‘When did you find out that your mother was having an affair?’ Lydia asked.
‘Right after she died,’ Raul said. ‘I didn’t believe it at first. My mother was very religious—when she was a girl, growing up she had hoped to be a nun...’
‘Why didn’t she?’
‘She got pregnant at sixteen.’
‘With you? By your father?’
‘Of course.’ Raul gave a nod. ‘It wasn’t a happy marriage, I knew that, but I was still surprised...’ He didn’t finish.
‘To find that she cheated?’ Lydia asked, and watched his eyes narrow at her choice of words.
‘I think my mother was the one who was cheated.’ He thought of Bastiano’s slick charm and the inheritance that he had ensured was signed over to his name.
‘Or,’ Lydia pondered out loud, ‘maybe she fell in love.’
‘Please!’ Raul’s voice was derisive, but more at Lydia’s suggestion than at her. And then he told her something. ‘She was used. I hate that man.’
‘Do you ever see him?’ Lydia asked. ‘Her lover?’
‘On occasion,’ Raul admitted. ‘I have made it my mission to take from him, to get there first, to beat him at everything...’ It was the reason he was here at the Hotel Grande Lucia. Usually he would be ringing Allegra, drafting an offer to put to Alim.
Yet he had slept until midday.
And that need to conquer had been the real reason for pulling back last night.
Lydia deserved far better than that.
And it was there again—the chance to tell her just who Bastiano was, here and now, in bed, during the most intimate conversation of his life—for Raul never usually discussed such things.
But he didn’t tell.
There was no need for that.
And anyway she would be gone soon. So Raul kissed her instead.
It was a different kiss from last night—they knew more about each other now than then—but it did not last for long.
Raul knew his own reputation, and that it wouldn’t be changing any time soon, and so he pulled back.
She was dismissed.
Yet still they lingered in bed.
‘What are you going to do with the rest of your day?’ he asked her.
‘I’m going to head home while I’ve still got one. I’ll see if I can transfer my flight to today,’ Lydia said. ‘I want to tell my mother—away from Maurice—that I’m moving out.’
‘Good,’ Raul said. ‘You need to...’ He halted. It was not his place to tell her what to do.
‘I know what I need to do, Raul.’
She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the mountain in front of her that she was about to climb—walking out on the family business, forging a career of her own, finding somewhere to live with nothing.
Yet there was excitement there too.
It was time.
And that made her smile.
‘What will you do today?’ Lydia asked.
Raul thought for a moment—the weekend spread out before him, and really he could take his pick.
Allegra was waiting for Raul to call with his amended schedule.
There were parties and invitations galore—particularly as he was known to be in Rome. And yet whatever he chose Raul knew it could not top last night.
‘I’ll go home,’ Raul said.
‘And where’s that?’ Lydia asked.
‘Venezia.’
Venice.
Lydia gave a wistful sigh, but then, so contrary were her memories from there, she screwed up her nose just a fraction—and he saw that she did.
To cover herself, and because she could not take him delving deep this morning, she quickly chose laughter and gave him a dig in his ribs.
‘You never told me that you lived there.’
‘Why would I?’
‘When I was talking about it you never let on...’ And then she halted, remembering that Raul owed her no explanations—they danced on the edge of the other, revealing only what they chose. ‘I’m not very good at being a one-night stand.’
‘No,’ he agreed with a wry smile, ‘you’re not.’ And then his smile dimmed, but still his eyes held hers and Raul asked a question. ‘Would you have regretted it if we had slept together?’
‘No.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Raul, you seem to have decided that just because I haven’t slept with anyone I’m looking for something permanent. By all accounts I could have had that with Bastiano, but I chose not to. He’s not...’ Lydia faltered and then, rather than finishing, swallowed her words down. Raul didn’t need to hear them. The truth was she had no feelings for Bastiano.
None.
Yet she did for Raul.
‘Not what?’ Raul asked.
He’s not you would be her honest response.
But rather than say that Lydia was far more evasive. ‘He’s not what I want.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I wanted what every woman wants, a bit of romance while I was here. I’m not shopping for a husband.’ She gave a shrug and pulled one of the tangled sheets from the bed to cover herself. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’
And it was in the shower, with space between them, that Lydia pondered what she had been about to say.
He’s not you.
With Bastiano there was no attraction. Had it been Raul whom her family were trying to match-make her with she’d have been embarrassed, yes, and annoyed, perhaps, and yet there would have been excitement and trepidation too.
She liked Raul far more than it was safe to let on.
* * *
And Raul liked Lydia.
A lot.
That feeling was rare.
Mornings were never his strong point—generally he preferred women who dressed in the dark and were gone. He wasn’t proud of that fact, just honest, as he examined his usual wants. Yet this morning he was lying listening to Lydia in the shower and trying to
resist joining her.
And again she had surprised him.
Lydia was tough.
There had been no tears, no pleas for help or for him to get involved. In fact she had actively discouraged it when he had offered to step in and deal with Maurice.
There was a level of independence to her that he had seen in few and he did not want her to be gone.
And, more honestly, he wanted to be her first.
It had nothing to do with Bastiano.
In fact Raul wanted her well away from here.
He was wondering if he could give Lydia what she wanted.
The romantic trip to Italy she craved.
He could do that for a day, surely?
Raul didn’t look over at her when Lydia came out from the bathroom and went through to the lounge. There she found her case and pulled out an outfit.
Lydia chose the nice cream dress she had brought for sightseeing and some flat sandals.
Her hair was a bit of a disaster, but she had left her adaptor in her hotel room, so there was no point dragging out her straighteners.
Lydia made do and smoothed it as best she could. She could hear Raul making some calls on his phone and commencing his day.
She had been but a brief interlude, Lydia knew. And so she checked that her sunglasses were in her purse and then walked back into the bedroom—and there he lay. He was even more beautiful now than when she had met him.
Then Raul had been in a suit and clean-shaven.
A mystery.
Now he lay in bed with his hands behind his head, thinking. She knew, because she had lain beside him all night, that he was naked save the sheet that barely covered him. He was unshaven and his eyes seemed heavy from sleep as he turned and looked at her.
And the more that she knew, the more of a mystery he was.
This was regret, Lydia thought.
That he could so easily let her go.
And how did she walk away? Lydia wondered.
How did she go over and kiss that sulky mouth and say goodbye when really she wanted to climb back into bed?
How did she accept that she would never know how it felt to be made love to by him?
But rather than reveal her thoughts she flicked that internal default switch which had been permanently set to ‘polite’.
‘Thank you so much for last night.’
‘I haven’t finished being your tour guide yet.’
He stretched out his arm and held out his hand, but Lydia didn’t go over. She did not want to let in hope, so she just stood there as Raul spoke.
‘It would be remiss of me to let you go home without seeing Venice as it should be seen.’
‘Venice?’
Oh, she repeated his offer only because she was mystified. She’d been preparing to leave with her head held high, but then, when she had least expected it, he’d offered more.
So much more.
‘I like to call it by its other name—La Serenissima,’ Raul said. ‘It means the Most Serene.’
‘That’s not how I remember my time there.’
‘Then you have a chance to change that. I’m heading there today. Why don’t you come with me? Fly out of Marco Polo tomorrow instead.’
There was another night between now and then, and Lydia knew that even while he offered her an extension he made it clear there was a cut-off.
Time added on for good behaviour.
And Raul’s version of ‘good behaviour’ was that there would be no tears or drama as she walked away. Lydia knew that. If she were to accept his offer, then she had to remember that.
‘I’d like that.’ The calm of her voice belied the trembling she felt inside. ‘It sounds wonderful.’
‘Only if you’re sure,’ Raul added.
‘Of course.’
But how could she be sure of anything now she had set foot in Raul’s world?
He made her dizzy.
Disorientated.
Not just her head, but every cell in her body seemed to be spinning as he hauled himself from the bed and unlike Lydia, with her sheet-covered dash to the bathroom, his body was hers to view.
And that blasted default switch was stuck, because Lydia did the right thing and averted her eyes.
Yet he didn’t walk past. Instead Raul walked right over to her and stood in front of her.
She could feel the heat—not just from his naked body but her own—and it felt as if her dress might disintegrate.
He put his fingers on her chin, tilted her head so that she met his eyes, and it killed that he did not kiss her, nor drag her back to his bed. Instead he checked again. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course,’ Lydia said, and tried to make light of it. ‘I never say no to a free trip.’
It was a joke—a teeny reference to the very reason she was here in Rome—but it put her in an unflattering light. She was about to correct herself, to say that it hadn’t come out as she had meant, but then she saw his slight smile and it spelt approval.
A gold-digger he could handle, Lydia realised.
Her emerging feelings for him—perhaps not.
At every turn her world changed, and she fought for a semblance of control. Fought to convince not just Raul but herself that she could handle this.
* * *
They were driven right up to his jet, and his pilot and crew were waiting on the runway to greet them.
‘Do you always have a jet on standby?’ Lydia asked.
‘Always.’
‘What’s wrong with first class?’ Lydia asked, refusing to appear too impressed.
‘When children are banned from first class, then I’ll consider commercial flights.’
He wouldn’t!
Raul liked his privacy, as well as his own staff.
Inside the plane was just as luxurious as the hotel they had come from, and very soon there was take-off and she looked out of the window and watched Rome disappear beneath them.
Lydia felt free.
Excited, nervous, but finally free.
‘I travel a lot.’ Raul explained the real reason for his plane. ‘And, as you saw this morning, my schedule is prone to change. Having my own jet shaves hours off my working week.’
‘How did you do all this?’ Lydia asked.
‘I received an inheritance when my mother died.’
‘Your family was rich?’
‘No.’
He thought back to Casta. They had been comfortable financially, compared to some, but it had been dirty money and always quickly spent.
Neither the Di Savo nor the Conti wineries had ever really taken off.
And then he thought of him and Bastiano, drinking the wine together and laughing at how disgusting it tasted.
They had been such good friends.
In the anger and hate that had fuelled him for years, Raul had forgotten that part.
It would serve him better not to remember it now.
Bastiano was the enemy, and he reminded himself of that when he spoke next.
‘My mother had some money from her brother. She left half to her lover and half to me. It was enough for me to buy the flat I was renting. Then I took out a mortgage on one across the floor and rented it out. I kept going like that. You were right—developers did come in, and they made me an offer that I should not have been able to refuse.’
‘But you did?’
‘Yes. If they could see the potential, then so could I. One of the owners upstairs had done some refurbishing, and I watched and learnt. By then I had four studio apartments, and I turned them into two more luxurious ones... It had always been an amazing location, but now it was a desirable address. A few years later the other owner and I got the backing to turn it
into a hotel. I bought him out in the end. I wanted it for myself. That was always the end game.’
‘You used him?’
‘Of course,’ Raul said. ‘That’s what I do.’
He didn’t care if that put him in an unflattering light.
Better that she know.
‘Do you go back often?’ Lydia asked. ‘To Sicily?’
Raul shook his head. ‘I haven’t been back since my mother’s funeral.
‘Don’t you miss it?’ Lydia pushed.
‘There is nothing there for me to miss.’
‘You didn’t go back for your father’s funeral?’ Lydia checked.
‘No. He was already dead to me.’
‘But even so—’
‘Should I pretend to care?’ Raul interrupted.
Lydia didn’t know how to answer that. In her family appearances were everything, and there was a constant demand to be seen to do the right thing.
Raul lived by rules of his own.
‘No,’ she answered finally.
Her response was the truth—she could think of nothing worse than Raul pretending to care and her believing in his lies.
Better to know from the start that this was just temporary, for when he removed her from his life she really would be gone for good.
‘Do you want to change for dinner?’
‘Dinner?’ Lydia checked, and then she looked at the sun, too low in the sky. The day was running away from them already.
And soon, Lydia knew, it would be her turn to be the one left behind.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LYDIA HAD BEEN in two different bedrooms belonging to Raul.
One at the hotel.
The other on his plane.
Tonight would make it three.
Raul was wearing black pants and a white shirt—dressed for anything, she guessed.
Lydia opened her case, and there was the red dress she had bought with Raul on her mind.
It was too much, surely?
Yet she would never get the chance again. She thought of where she’d be tomorrow—rowing with her mother and no doubt packing a lifetime of stuff into trunks and preparing to move out of the castle.
A bell buzzed, and Lydia knew she had to move a little more quickly.
Simple, yet elegant, there was nothing that should scream ‘warning’ in the dress, and yet it hugged her curves, and the slight ruching of the fabric over her stomach seemed to indicate the shiver she felt inside.
Innocent's Secret Baby (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs, Book #1) Page 9
