Leandro stood at the window of the study and looked out at the neglected garden. The moon illuminated the overgrown shapes of the hedges, giving them a grotesque appearance. He couldn’t see Rosie’s statue from here but knowing it was there made the weight of his grief feel like an anchor hanging off his heart.
Would it never ease? This awful sense of guilt that plagued him day and night?
Would packing up Rosie’s room bring closure or would it make things even worse? Handling the toys she had played with, touching the clothes she had worn, packing them off to where? Charity? For some stranger to use or to throw out when they were finished with them?
Leandro couldn’t keep her things. Why would he? He would have no use for them and he didn’t want to turn into another version of his father, making a shrine that in no way would help to heal the past.
It was time to move on.
He opened the door to Rosie’s room and stood there for a moment. For the two years after Rosie’s disappearance he had come to her room during the night. Every night. He had stood in exactly this spot in the doorway, hoping, praying, he would find her neat little shape in the princess bed. That he would see one of her starfish hands resting on the pillow near her little angel face with its halo of dark hair. That he would hear the soft snuffle of her breathing and see the rise and fall of her chest.
He remembered the last time he had stood here. The night before he had been taken to England to live with his mother. He had stood in this doorway with a tsunami of emotion trapped in his chest.
Something in him had died along with Rosie. He could feel the place where it had been. It was a hollow space inside him where hope used to be.
The moon shone a beam over the empty bed where Flopsy the rabbit had slumped forward from his propped up position against the pillows. Leandro moved across the carpet and gently straightened the toy so he was back between the pink elephant and the teddy bear.
He turned from the bed, his heart all but stopping when he saw a small figure framed in the doorway. He blinked and then realised it was Miranda, dressed in cream-coloured satin pyjamas. ‘What are you doing up at this hour?’ he said, surprised his voice came out so even when his heart was still thumping like a mad thing.
Even though it was dark, except for the moonlight, he could see the twin streaks of colour over her pale cheeks. ‘I couldn’t sleep...’ she said. ‘I came down for a glass of water and I thought I heard something.’
‘You weren’t frightened?’
She captured her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Only a little.’
Leandro could feel his body calculating the distance between their bodies—every organ, every cell registering her presence like radar picking up a signal. He didn’t trust himself to be near her. Not since he’d kissed her. God, he had to stop thinking about that kiss.
He could see every line of her slim body beneath the close-fitting drape of the satin pyjamas she was wearing. He could smell the freesia scent of her perfume. He could still taste her in his mouth—that alluring sweetness and hint of innocence that made him hard as stone. Her auburn hair was all mussed up, as if she had been tossing and turning in bed. He wanted to slide those silky strands through his fingers and to breathe in their clean, fresh fragrance. Her skin was luminous in the moonlight, her toffee-brown eyes shining like wet paint. He surged with blood when she moistened her mouth with the quick dart of her tongue. Was she remembering their kiss? Reliving it the way he had been doing for the last couple of hours? Feeling the desire licking along her veins as it had along his until he was almost crazy with it?
‘Do you want a glass of milk or something?’ he said, leading the way out of the room.
She screwed up her mouth like a child refusing to take medicine. ‘I’m not much of a milk drinker.’
‘Something stronger, then?’
‘No, I’ll just head back to bed,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you.’
‘You weren’t disturbing me.’ He let out a short sigh as he closed the door behind him. ‘I was just...remembering.’
Her eyes glistened as if she was about to cry. ‘It must be so terribly hard for you, being here again.’
Leandro knew he shouldn’t touch her. Touching her was dangerous. Touching her made it harder to keep his resolve in place. But even so his hand reached out and gently tucked a flyaway hair back behind the shell of her ear. He heard her draw in a sharp little breath, her mouth parting slightly, her eyes flicking downwards to his mouth. ‘Don’t tear yourself up about that kiss,’ he said.
Her eyes skittered away from his. ‘I’m not. I’ve forgotten all about it.’
He inched up her chin, holding her gaze with his. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it.’
She rolled her lips together. Blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again. ‘You shouldn’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s not right.’
He slid his hand along her cheek, cradling her face as his thumb moved over the silky skin of her face. ‘It felt pretty right to me.’ Which was the problem in a big, fat, inconvenient nutshell. It felt so damn right he wanted to do it again.
And not just kiss her. He wanted her like he had never wanted anyone. He felt it in his body now—the thunder of his blood heading south. The tingle in his thighs made him want to bring her close enough for her body to feel him. To feel the need he had for her. The hunger that would not go away now it had been awakened. Would she pull away or would she lean in like she had when he’d kissed her earlier? Would her body press urgently against his? Would she make those breathless little gasps of approval as his mouth showed her what it was like to kiss a full-blooded man?
She swept her tongue over her lips in a nervous manner. ‘Just because something feels right doesn’t make it right.’
Leandro moved his hand on her face to brush the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. ‘Are you seriously going to spend the rest of your life being celibate?’ he said.
A glitter of hauteur shone in her gaze as it held his. ‘I find that imminently preferable to hooking up with people for no other reason than to slake animal lust.’
Was it just sisterly, friendly concern or was she jealous? ‘Ah, so Nicole is an issue for you, then?’
Her mouth tightened to a flat disapproving line. ‘It’s no business of mine if you call her and sleep with her. You can call and sleep with anyone you like.’
‘But you would hate it if I did.’
She stepped back from him and folded her arms across the front of her body, reminding him of a starchy schoolmistress from his childhood. ‘Don’t you want more out of life than that?’ she said.
‘Don’t you?’
She pursed her lips. ‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Because talking about you makes you feel uncomfortable, doesn’t it? You’re happier dishing out the advice to everyone else while you turn a blind eye to your own needs.’
‘You know nothing about my needs,’ she flashed back.
He raised one of his brows. ‘Are you sure about that, Sleeping Beauty?’ he said. ‘I can still taste those needs in my mouth.’
Her cheeks flamed with colour. ‘Why are you doing this?’
He took her by the shoulders gently but firmly. ‘You’re living a lie, Miranda. You know you are. A big, fat lie. You want more but you’re too afraid to grow up and ask for it.’
She pulled away from him with a twist of her body, glaring at him. ‘Did Julius put you up to this?’
Leandro frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘He gave me one of his lectures recently,’ she said. ‘He said the same thing you said—that Mark would’ve moved on if the tables were turned. It’s kind of telling, how you’re suddenly taking an interest in me after ignoring me for all these years.’
‘I haven’t been ignoring you.’ Far from it, he thought wryly. His awareness of her had been gradual, admittedly. He had always seen her as his mates’ little sister. But
over time he had watched her blossom from an awkward teenager into a beautiful and accomplished young woman. He noticed the way her creamy cheeks blushed when she was embarrassed, especially for some reason when he was around. He noticed her body; how it made his feel when she was in the same room as him. He noticed her slightest movement: the shy lick of her lips; the downward cast of her gaze; the nervous swallow; the sinking of her small white teeth into the blood-red pillow of her lower lip.
Leandro came to where she was standing with her arms folded. ‘I’m not ignoring you now,’ he said, watching as the dark ink of her pupils flared.
She closed her eyes in a slow blink. ‘Don’t...’
‘Don’t what?’
The tip of her tongue sneaked out to moisten her lips. ‘You’re making this so hard for me...’
‘Because you want to know what it feels like to be with a man instead of a boy, don’t you?’ Leandro said. ‘That’s why you kissed me the way you did. You didn’t kiss like some shy little teenager who didn’t know what she was doing. You kissed like a hot-blooded, passionate woman because that’s who you really are underneath that prim and proper, twin-set-and-pearls façade you insist on hiding behind.’
Her mouth flattened to a thin line of white. ‘You know something?’ she said. ‘I think I preferred it when you ignored me. I’m going to bed. Good night.’
Leandro muttered a stiff curse as she stalked off down the shadowed corridor until she disappeared from sight.
* * *
Miranda got to work on the collection first thing. She sorted the paintings into different sections for proper packing and shipping. She had already consulted her associates on one or two paintings that were outside her range of experience. By lunchtime she had done half the collection but that still left the other half, as well as the antiques.
She hadn’t seen or heard from Leandro since late last night. She had gone to bed in a fit of temper over him pushing her to admit her needs. Needs she was perfectly happy ignoring, thank you very much. Or she had been, until he’d come along and stopped ignoring her. Grr! Was that why he had kissed her in the lane? Just to prove a point? To show her how it felt to kiss a man?
Well, she knew now. It felt good. It felt amazing. It felt so damn amazing she didn’t know how she had managed to keep out of his arms last night. She had come close to throwing herself at him. Terrifyingly, shamelessly close. She had looked at his mouth and imagined it pressed on hers, his tongue doing all those wicked things it had done before, and the way hers had responded so wantonly.
Miranda didn’t even know if he was still in the villa or whether he had left to meet Nicole. The thought of him with the other woman was like a stone in the pit of her belly.
Would he tell Nicole of the pain he held inside him? Would he share the agony of his childhood? The terrible loss he had experienced? The guilt and torment he still felt? Would he tell her about the estrangement he had suffered from his father and the distant relationship he had with his mother?
Or would they just have monkey sex without any emotional connection at all?
Miranda decided to get out of the villa for a while before she went mad over-thinking about Leandro’s sex life. She bought some things for dinner and stopped for a coffee in a café that overlooked the stunning blue of the ocean. It was another mild day with soap-sud clouds gathering on the horizon. Although the late summer crowds had well and truly gone, she was surprised to see only a couple of people swimming in the sea, for the water temperature at this time of year was warmer than in many parts of England in high summer.
Miranda wondered exactly where along the shore Rosie had gone missing. The villa was only a few blocks back from the seafront. She didn’t know whether she should ask Leandro to show her. Would it be too painful for him to revisit that tragic spot?
As she walked back to the villa Miranda passed a mother with a baby strapped in a pouch against her chest with a little boy of about two in a pushchair. The baby was sound asleep with its little downy head cradled against its mother’s chest. The little toddler was holding a brightly coloured toy and smiled at Miranda as she navigated her way past on the narrow footpath.
Miranda resisted the urge to turn and look back at the little family. When she’d been in her teens, seeing mums with kids hadn’t been an issue. Even in the weeks and months after Mark had died she had put the thought out of her mind.
But now every time she saw a mother with a baby she felt a pang, like a nagging toothache.
She would never have a baby of her own.
Somehow that had seemed like a romantic sacrifice when she’d been sixteen, sitting at Mark’s bedside with his life draining away in front of her eyes. Now at twenty-three she felt as if the promise was a prison sentence—one without any possibility of parole. How was she going to feel at thirty-three? Forty-three? Fifty?
Miranda pushed the thought to the back wall of her mind. There were other things she had to concentrate on just now. Like how to get Leandro’s father’s collection safely shipped to London and the villa packed up ready for sale.
The villa was quiet when Miranda came in. She put her shopping away and then went up the stairs, but instead of going to her room as she had intended she found herself turning to Rosie’s instead.
She opened the door and stood there for a moment. The toys were as they had been last night. The bed was still neatly made, all Rosie’s things still on the dressing table.
Leandro had intimated he wanted the room to be packed up. Should Miranda do it to save him the pain? Could she do it?
Miranda wandered over to the cherry-wood wardrobe and, opening it, looked at the array of neat little hangers with toddler clothes. She ran her fingers along the different fabrics, wondering how any parent could ever navigate the loss of a child. Was there any way of dealing with such overwhelming grief? No wonder Leandro’s father had left Rosie’s things as they were. Packing them away was so final. So permanent.
Miranda closed the wardrobe with a sigh.
* * *
Leandro could smell something delicious as soon as he came into the villa. It was such a homely smell it took him aback for a moment. It had been a long time since he had felt as if this place was anything like a home. But with the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen and Miranda moving about he got a sense of what the villa could one day be again with the right family. He imagined children coming in from the garden, as he and Rosie had done, their faces shining with exertion and sunshine. He could picture the evening meal with the family gathered around the kitchen table or in the dining room, everyone relating how their day had gone, the parents looking fondly at their children.
His parents hadn’t been one-hundred percent happy with each other but they had loved him and Rosie.
Life had seemed so normal and then suddenly it wasn’t.
Leandro walked into the kitchen to see Miranda popping something in the oven. She was wearing a cute candy-striped apron around her waist and her hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head. Her cheeks were flushed from the oven but they went a shade darker when she saw him standing there.
She swiped a strand of hair back from her face. ‘Dinner won’t be long.’
‘You didn’t have to cook,’ he said. ‘We could’ve eaten out or got takeaway.’
‘I like cooking.’ She rinsed her hands under the tap and dried them on a tea towel. ‘So how was your date with Nicole? I presume that’s where you’ve been? Did it all go according to plan?’
‘We had a drink.’
Miranda’s neat brows lifted. ‘Just a drink?’
He held her gaze for a long beat, watching as a host of emotions flitted across her face. ‘Yes. Just a drink.’
‘You must be losing your touch.’
‘Maybe.’
She began to fuss over a salad she was making on the counter. ‘I’ve packed up about half of your father’s paintings. I’ve still got some research to do on the others. I’m waiting to hear back from one of my co
lleagues. I should have it more or less done by the end of next week, maybe even earlier. I’ve got the shipping people on standby but I’ll need you to authorise the insurance.’
Leandro felt something in his chest slip at the thought of her leaving earlier than he had planned. Had he pushed her too far? Made her feel uncomfortable? All he had wanted to do was make her see how she was throwing her life away... Well, maybe that wasn’t all he wanted to do. He couldn’t get the memory of their kiss out of his head. He kept reliving it. Kept feeling the sensual energy of it in his body. Every time he looked at her mouth he felt a spark fire in his groin. Did she feel it too? Was that why she was talking so quickly and keeping her eyes well away from his? ‘Do you want me to change your flight back home?’
She caught her lip with her teeth, her gaze still avoiding his as she fiddled with the salad she was preparing. ‘Do you want me to leave early?’
‘No, but what do you want?’
She reached for an avocado and pressed it to see if it was ripe. ‘I thought I’d stay on. Help you with the clean-up and stuff.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I know, but I’d like to.’
‘Why?’
She still actively avoided his gaze. ‘I’m enjoying being out of London and not just because of the weather. I can actually walk down the street here without anyone bothering me.’
‘Always a bonus, I guess.’
Her cheeks went a faint shade of pink as she reached for some cherry tomatoes. ‘Will you be seeing Nicole again before she leaves?’
Leandro couldn’t help teasing her. ‘For a drink, you mean?’
‘For...whatever.’
‘No.’
Her brow puckered as she looked at him. ‘Why not?’
Leandro hadn’t intended to resume his on-off relationship with Nicole in any case but he found it amusing to see Miranda struggle with the notion of him having a sex life. Was she just being a prude or was she actually jealous? Was she envisaging having a fling with him? Maybe she thought she could get away with it while she was away from home. Was that why she kept looking at him with that hungry look in her eyes? Was she rethinking her commitment to her dead boyfriend? Was she finally accepting it was time to move on and live life in the present instead of in the past? Could her fuss over Leandro’s love life be a sign she was finally ready to take that first step?
Awakening the Ravensdale Heiress (The Ravensdale Scandals) Page 8
