Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2014 Raven McAllan
ISBN: 978-1-77130-926-4
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: JS Cook
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Leigh, for graciously letting me use her names and saying she loved the story.
And to both Pauls. You know why.
BEING LUCA’S
Raven McAllan
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
Leigh shut the front door with her bum, kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes with relief. Proper shoes on a hot day were torture. Especially as in this part of Scotland hot days were as rare as her going for a run. Very infrequent.
She walked into the kitchen and put the heavy carrier bag she was carrying down on the work surface and rubbed her aching back. For once the Mediterranean tiles on the wall, and her traditional cream cooker didn't give her the usual surge of pleasure. Fuck it, I ache. And it wasn't just her back. Could you really have an aching heart?
Damned if today had to be the first and probably only day of summer. The one day she had no option but to go into town and collect some very important, and in some ways, upsetting papers.
Now she was hot, sticky, and sad.
Still it was done. To all intents and purposes, Miss Leigh Monteith, spinster of the parish was back. In six weeks she would no longer be Signora Leigh Corrieri, no more Luca's wife. Her own person. Alone. Maybe she'd better get a cat.
But dammit she hadn't wanted that.
Leigh had loved Luca, accepted if she married him her life would be turned upside down. She'd done her best. Until she had to acknowledge her best wasn't good enough, and the all too short idyll came to an abrupt end.
Sixteen months, just over one season, and a helluva lot of heartache.
Leigh straightened her shoulders and went to the cupboard to take out a bottle of Barolo. After all she hadn't divorced all things Italian—and especially not wine—just Luca Corrieri.
No doubt it would be all over the papers the next day. Leigh gave up a mental prayer of thanks that when she moved into the house after leaving Luca, she'd paid cash, and used her maiden name. Her neighbors all knew her as single, albeit someone who wasn't interested in dating. A couple had tried, but accepted her polite refusals. The excuse, I've just come out of a long-term relationship and I'm not ready yet, worked wonders. One of those wannabe dates was now going out with one of Leigh's friends.
It took scant seconds to open the wine and leave it to breathe. Leigh put her shopping away and wandered into her bedroom to change into a wraparound skirt and a vest. She intended to sit in her suntrap of a garden, wallow for a few minutes, or longer, and relax with her wine, before she made a pizza and got on with her life.
Where had it all gone wrong? Was Luca right when he said she'd never trusted him? Never allowed herself to believe in him and his love?
Was that me? Leigh blocked that disturbing thought. It had returned more and more often over the last few months. Had she really been so shallow? Walked out on Luca and given in so easily?
She was lucky there had been no necessity to hunt for a job. Her free-lance hairdressing worked well. A lot of her customers had welcomed her back with open arms, and Luca hadn't stinted in sharing his wealth.
The trouble was she'd rather have had his loyalty and fidelity than his absence and his money.
He said I did.
Even though she would have liked to tell him to stuff his money where the sun didn't shine, Leigh was too realistic to know she couldn't. When she married him, she'd left all her old life behind and followed him around the world without a backward glance.
Or had I? Didn't I think it was all too good to be true? Didn't I keep expecting it all to go wrong? Well I was right and it did. But whose fault was it?
Fool.
She went back to the kitchen, picked up the bottle, a glass and a container of olives, and opened the patio doors.
Her garden, although not overlarge, was more than big enough for her. A few currant bushes and a lawn that she decided really could do with cutting. Plus a pond where she had three fish she called Tinkywinky, Lala and Dipsy—after the characters in a favorite children's TV program—but sadly Po, the fourth fish, had been eaten by a not too friendly heron just after she'd moved in. If she got a cat she'd have to net the pond.
The patio was large enough for four chairs and a table if need be and was a real suntrap. There might not be many sit out and toast days where she lived, but if there was one, she was ready. Luckily the evenings seemed to fare better, and until the midges arrived in force Leigh often managed an hour or two with her book before it got too dark or too cold to stay outside.
Now though, she was too restless to read. A happy ever after reminded her that was what she didn't have, and a blood and gore would give her ideas about what she'd like to do.
Better to sit and savor the wine, and to listen to some soothing chill-out music. She switched on her iPod, sat back and let the soft tones of Clannad flow over her.
It was warm and she could hear a bee in the honeysuckle that climbed up the wall. Somewhere nearby, someone much more virtuous than she was mowing a lawn and the whir of a hand pushed mower sounded of all things summer. Good for them, I'll do mine tomorrow. She lay there in that pleasant state halfway between awake and asleep and relaxed.
The heavy hand on her shoulder made her scream, shoot up out of her chair, and turn around in a move to do any prima ballerina proud. Red wine went in every direction, except luckily, on her.
The guy who stood behind her chair didn't fare so well. With red wine dripping from his hair onto his face, and from his chin onto what seemed like a very costly silk shirt, he looked a mess. Even his expensive-looking trousers hadn't got off scot-free.
The expression made Leigh want to giggle—after all she was a Scot— although the guy standing there with a face like frost didn't.
"What a way to greet me, cara. Are you still feeling so pissy? After all you got what you wanted."
Leigh saw red and it wasn't just the spilled wine. All her introspective thoughts about being narrow minded flew out of her mind.
"Asshole. Fucking asshole. No, you got what you wanted. Your dick in that marriage wrecking groupie's cunt. What I wanted was your bollocks in a vise. And her clit to shrivel and her channel to shrink."
She couldn't believe the profanities that spewed out of her. Leigh always prided herself on not swearing, because as her mother had often said, it showed a lack of imagination and vocabulary. Right then she couldn't have cared less if it made her illiterate. The words fitted.
He reddened, took out a linen handkerchief, and wiped his face without saying a word.
Leigh was on a roll. In some perverse way she was enjoying herself. It was cathartic, saying just how she felt, to his face. "I hope you got yourself checked out, Luca? After all who knows who was in that pussy before you? Did you check the hair for nits? Oh no I forgot, she's probably one who dares to bare." She didn’t mention that since she and Luca had separated she'd tried that, liked it, and never gone back to hairy. "Best way really, less to catch anything in."
"You know nothing." He barked the words, looked around and then dropped the sodden handke
rchief onto the table. "That's enough."
Leigh ignored him. "Not by a long chalk Signor Corrieri. Why are you here? How did you get in? Added breaking and entering to your list of transgressions now, have we?"
He swung a door key in front of her face. "No breaking necessary, cara. You left this in the door. Freudian slip? Or were you waiting for someone else?"
"Neither." She snatched the key from him and put it in her pocket. "I'm not the one who played away."
"Will this verbal crucifixion go on for ever?" Luca's voice was flat and unemotional. Only the tic at the corner of his eye showed how affected he was. "I screwed up, I admit it. I said sorry, what more do you want me to do? Bleed?"
"Well you screwed all right, and I guess it was up. Up into her. Bleeding isn’t enough. I've bled enough for both of us." Leigh bit back a sob. Luca lifted his arm toward her, took one look at her face and let it drop. She could only imagine what he'd seen there. However, if her emotions showed in her expression as usual, it would have been something along the lines of how she was wondering if she could commit murder and get away with it.
"You cheated, Luca. You defiled what we had. And that bitch crowed about it. In every bloody paper, before you said as much as a dicky bird. Were you hoping to get away with it? Fat chance with Angela, oh I'm your friend Leigh, bloody here's my cunt screw me whatsherface. Two faced bitch." All her thoughts of being open-minded, things aren't always what they seem, had gone from her mind. She was, in the words of her friend's daughter, 'in a mad'. "As for you, couldn't you have kept your cock in your trousers for one weekend? Was that too much to ask? And now I expect you're going to say it was all her doing. That she came on to you, and you were drunk and didn't know what was happening. Men. Think with their dicks." She turned her back on him and very deliberately filled her glass.
"No, I'm not going to say it was all her doing. It takes two to be f…"
"Okay I get your drift." Leigh sat back in her chair. "Oh sit down, Luca. Tell me why you're here and then go away. If you want some wine, in a glass and in your throat rather than over you, there are glasses in the cupboard next to the sink. If not speak up and then fuck off. I want to wallow and wonder why I'm so lacking in sexuality my husband needed a whore."
"You are so wrong, cara. But it's not my story to tell." Luca sighed, nodded and walked into the house. She heard cupboard doors open and close. Why hadn't she just told him to get lost? Taken her key and locked the door behind him?
Because we've never really talked about it.
Luca returned to the garden and poured wine into a glass before he sat next to her and swirled the liquid around the vessel.
"Good legs," he said.
She laughed, although there wasn't a lot of humor in it.
"Me or the wine?"
"Both, although in this case I meant the wine." He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and held his wine glass loosely between thumb and forefinger.
Leigh looked at him out of the corner of her eye. As ever during the race season there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, only honed and toned muscle. In any other circumstances she would have drooled.
"Ah well, I had a good teacher." By now Leigh had calmed down. Except for her unruly hormones which made her itch to undo his shirt and run her hands over those impressive abs and … down girl, this is your lying, cheating almost ex here. Or he was until she thought otherwise. The cuss-filled rant had done her good, but worn her out. "Okay, Luca, why are you here?"
"You're not going to like it," he said in a warning tone. "But I felt I had to warn you."
Warn her? That sounded ominous. Was there anything worse he could hit her with
"Tell me."
Chapter Two
Luca stared at his feet. His shirt stuck to his torso and his damp trousers rasped against his dick, which to his intense joy was in its usual state around Leigh. It pushed against the fine linen, and begged to be free to play with her. Why hadn't he gone against his normal habits and put some boxers on? At least then there would be less chance of his trousers being stained with pre-cum as well as red wine.
Because I thought there was as much chance as a snowball in hell at feeling like this.
"Well?" Leigh prompted him. "Speak now or forever hold your peace. That's spelled p e a c e, not p i e c e, as in cover your bits in case I do them an injury."
"Cara, you couldn't do them any more injury that they have at the moment."
Leigh leaned forward. "How do you mean?"
He shrugged. In for a penny. "To be crude, since we, she, then … ah since you left me I can't get it up?"
"What? You mean you've been trying to fuck the world and his wife and realized you can't?" She screeched the words and Luca winced.
"No, I promise you, no. I've tried to help myself but with no luck. My cock has remained as deflated as a balloon with no air in it."
"Or a condom with no dick?"
He chuckled. "That's about it."
"So…er, why?" Leigh gestured to his front, where a hard ridge was outlined under his trousers.
"That, my dear, is one of the mysteries of my body. This," he ran his hand over the length of his cock, "hasn't come out to play for months. One glimpse of you and he's begging for help."
"Well he can beg away. I don't take other people’s left overs. Soiled goods and all that."
"Do you think I was a virgin when we met?" Luca asked her. By god, he knew in her eyes he'd done wrong and boy had he paid for it. Over and over. Without uttering one word in his defense. Tried and convicted on the words of a trashy paper and an even trashier columnist. And after tomorrow he reckoned he'd be paying for the rest of his life. Which, if he didn't get his act together and concentrate on his job, could be a shorter period of time than he would like.
Leigh looked startled. "No of course not. Nor was I."
"But we took each other then, didn't we? Soiled, used, second hand, whatever."
"That was different. It was before us."
He nodded. "Of course it was. And we promised to forsake all others, and it looks like I didn't. But Leigh, we've never ever talked about that night. You've never let me tell you what happened."
"I know what happened," she said. Her mouth was set in a stubborn line. "I came home for the weekend, to help your mum ’cos she had broken her arm. You won the race and the championship and celebrated by fucking a whore. My alleged best friend. You didn't even ring me to tell me you'd won, let alone you'd been playing tonsil tennis and cock in a cunt with someone else. I found out when a gossip rag journalist rang me at 5 a.m. to ask if it was true, and did I have anything to comment. That was a fine wake up call I tell ya.”
"I rang, you didn't answer."
"I was in the bloody hospital with your mum, who at that point had been rushed into surgery for a blood clot somewhere dodgy. You didn't even leave a message."
He rubbed his hand over his chin. His designer stubble wasn't designer any more, just out-and-out scruffy.
"I wanted to tell you, not leave a message."
"Tell me what? That you'd found someone else? Oh why bother? The tabloids and bloody Angela did it for you. ‘My night with the new world champion. He was like a tiger, and couldn't get enough of me.’" Leigh made realistic retching noises that made Luca's mouth twitch. He daren't let it show.
"Well," Leigh continued her diatribe. "There is rather a lot of her to get, I guess."
"Miaow."
She laughed somewhat reluctantly, Luca decided.
"Yeah she brings out the cat in me."
He nodded. "I can see why. You think she broke up our marriage."
Leigh stood up and looked down at him. Her glass was still half full, and she swung it so the wine slopped perilously near the rim.
"No, Luca." Her voice was laced with sadness. "You did that."
How was he ever going to get a chance to explain? Luca guessed he'd blown it. In theory it seemed he was in the wrong, but in practice was he? Yes, for keeping his mouth s
hut. Yes, for not demanding Leigh listen to him, but really? It depended on your point of view and what you knew. Leigh knew nothing and had a very jaundiced point of view. One he in all honesty couldn't blame her for.
And after Sunday would it make it better or worse?
"There's no shades of grey with you is there, Leigh? That's a pity because things aren't always as they seem. Remember that when you open your paper on Sunday. I'm going. I have a race to qualify in."
"Paper on Sunday. What now, eh? Oh shit, it's Friday. Aren't you practicing or something? How did you get here?"
"I did practice. Then I flew. It's only Silverstone, not Singapore. Although Erich isn't over the moon about my disappearing, so I promised to be back before bedtime. You know I wasn't expecting a wham bam all is forgiven, fuck-fest. I was aiming for a quiet talk and a chance to tell you what really happened, now that I can. And before you read the papers. However." He stood up and kissed her cheek. "There's no point talking to someone who refuses to hear. Take care, I won't bother you again."
He turned and walked into the house out of the front door and to the car he'd hired at the airport, before she or anyone else saw the tears coursing down his cheeks.
That went well … not.
Luca wiped his face and started the car.
****
"So what did she say when you told her?" Angela asked eagerly as he entered his motor home. She must have seen the signs on his face.
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
Luca shook his head.
"Oh, Luca, why not? You must. She needs to know before that trashy paper tells it in all its grubby way glory."
"Leave it, Angie. You can’t talk to someone who refuses to hear. Where's mama?"
Angela rolled her eyes. "Leigh is as stubborn as you. Mama? She's over with Papa. I suspect we might hear something interesting soon." She hugged Luca and rested her head on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Being Luca's Page 1
