by Dani Collins
He turned to kiss her again, relishing the bite of pain as Emma threaded her fingers into his hair, digging her nails into his scalp. With his hands cradling her head, the softness of her hair spread over his fingers, flowing over his wrists, like a river of silk.
Setting his hips in a rhythmic sway, he pulled her tightly against him, her eager response, the way she arched into his body driving him on. Driving him crazy. His hands slid over her bottom, bunching up the floaty fabric of her short summer dress until he was underneath, slipping his fingers under the skimpy panties, seeking her slick, wet core.
Emma gave a twitch of pleasure at his first light touch, which soon turned to a guttural moan as his fingers worked faster, more deliberately, his own need a bright light behind his eyes as he felt the thrill of her coming closer and closer to orgasm. With one arm locked around her waist, he backed her against the wall, his focus entirely on giving her the maximum pleasure, instinctively knowing what she liked.
And when her sharp gasp told him she was there, he covered her mouth with his own, his breath hot and fierce as he absorbed the shudder of her release, felt it ripple through his body, almost as if it was his own.
Which was not going to be far behind. For a moment they stood there, their breathing ragged as they gazed into one another’s eyes. Never had Leo seen a more beautiful sight. All soft curves and warm skin, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, Emma called to him on some deeper level. Somewhere he had never been before.
But if he didn’t get a grip, they weren’t going to make it to a bedroom. Not that he minded. Such was his frenzy, his aching need to make love to Emma, he would have happily performed there and then, on top of the granite worktops or up against the vast shiny fridge he wasn’t sure he had ever opened. But Emma deserved better.
Taking hold of her hand, he laced his fingers tightly through hers. He was going to get them upstairs, into his bedroom and into his bed if it was the last thing he did. He was going to make love to her, passionately, crazily, with everything he had. Until the ache in his soul was satisfied. Until he had made her his once and for all. Until he had finally found peace.
CHAPTER TEN
‘BENE...BENE.’ BEATRICE lifted up the pasta, inspecting it closely as Emma rolled it through the machine for the umpteenth time. ‘You are definitely getting the ’ang of this.’
Emma smiled. Queen of the kitchen, Beatrice had taken some persuading to let her anywhere near her pasta machine, so the pressure had been on from the start. Making the dough had been stressful enough, Beatrice barking instructions in rapid Italian or broken English, both equally unintelligible, elbowing Emma out of the way when she did something particularly terrible, as if the sky might come crashing down because of it.
Nevertheless, Emma was enjoying herself. And she adored Beatrice. Small and plump, her smooth cheeks often dusted with flour, they reminded Emma of the soft balls of dough she so lovingly created. The mother of six grown-up children, Beatrice had been widowed ten years ago, forced to go back to work when her useless, incompetent husband had died leaving her penniless. You would never get her to admit it, but she loved her job at Villa Magenta. She even loved all the high-tech equipment, boasting about it to her friends. ‘I say to Agnesia, You no have the steam oven? You livin’ in the Dark Ages.’
‘You think it is ready for the filling?’ Emma stopped turning the handle of the machine.
‘Sì...sì...’
They were making prosciutto and ricotta ravioli, Leo’s favourite according to Beatrice, who seemed to know the food preferences of anyone who had ever crossed her path.
Emma had been living at the villa for two months now, two months that had stirred up such a complicated mix of emotions she didn’t know how to begin to untangle them. What’s more, she didn’t even want to. Because to examine their relationship, to try and understand the sexual relationship they had embarked on, in all its intense, vivid glory, meant examining herself. Something Emma was studiously avoiding doing.
Starting that evening down by the lake, when they had finally fallen upon each other like starving beasts, tumbling into bed and making love with wild and deeply sensual craving, there had been no going back. Like some sort of crazy addiction, a mad, hedonistic ride of pleasure, it was hot and wild and raw. And totally uncontrollable.
It could happen anywhere, at any time, but mostly Leo would come to her bed late at night, running his fingers down her spine or moving her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. And Emma would find her body instantly on fire, her hands reaching for him, urgent, desperate, to take her to that place only he could take her, make her feel something only he could.
She had quickly learned how to give pleasure as well as receive. An innocent virgin no more, she had done things that made her blush in the cold light of day, made her shiver with excitement at the thought of repeating them. Like taking Leo in her mouth, closing her lips around the silky hot girth of him, revelling in the way she could make him feel. She loved turning him on like that. It was empowering, life enhancing.
But sexual intimacy was as far as it went. In all other ways their relationship was as sterile as it had ever been. Worse if anything. The wall that Leo seemed so determined to surround himself with grew taller and more impregnable with every week that passed. Like he was building it up, brick by brick.
On the surface he was polite, enquiring after her health, how her day had gone. But it was a distracted courtesy, like he was keeping her at arm’s length, his mind already moving onto something else, something more worthy of his valuable time. There was a distinct lack of familiarity between them, any closeness solely restricted to sex. No cosying up on the sofa, chilling out together, enjoying each other’s company, the way normal couples did. They had never even spent the entire night together.
Waiting until after she had fallen asleep, or using the excuse of work, always more work, Leo would extricate himself from her arms and disappear into the night. The bed beside her empty in the morning, the crumpled sheets, the scent of his body all that was left of the intimacy they had shared. A damning indictment of what could never be.
But it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to warn her. I cannot be the man you want me to be.
Alone again, his words would come back to haunt Emma. But she only had herself to blame. She was the one who had initiated this shift in their relationship. She was a hopeless case, she knew that. Like a dog chasing her own tail, going round and round and getting nowhere. Ordering herself not to get emotionally involved but constantly obsessing over him. Determined to mirror his cool demeanour but thinking about Leo all the time. Dreaming of him. Falling in love with him...
No matter how hard Emma tried to ignore that traitorous word, it kept coming back to haunt her, niggling away at the back of her head, threatening to fall unbidden from her lips if she wasn’t careful. So she made sure she was on her guard at all times. She would rather saw off her own legs than let Leo see as much as a chink of how she felt about him. He had made his feeling towards her quite clear—at least his lack of them. It was up to her to deal with the situation as it was. No matter how much it hurt.
‘Buonasera.’ Standing in the kitchen doorway, the room was suddenly full of Leo’s presence, the air thick with the pull of him. Wearing a dark suit, the jacket slung over his shoulder and held by one crooked finger, his grey eyes flicked between Beatrice and Emma. ‘What is going on here?’
‘Beatrice is teaching me how to make pasta.’ Emma gestured to the perfectly shaped squares of deliciousness, steadfastly ignoring the thumping of her heart. ‘Prosciutto and ricotta ravioli.’
‘My favourite.’ Leo raised a dark brow a fraction and Beatrice gave Emma a complacent smile. ‘I’ll just take a quick shower and then we can eat.’
* * *
Supper was taken out on the terrace as usual. Even though summer had turned to autumn, the evenings were still gloriously warm and E
mma for one was relieved the searing temperatures had dropped.
‘Delizioso,’ Leo declared, touching a napkin to his lips before scrunching it up and laying it on the table. ‘Beatrice has taught you well. We will make an Italian mama out of you yet.’
Emma smiled. ‘I don’t know about that, but I love spending time with her. She’s a fantastic cook. Where did you find her?’
‘A restaurant I used to frequent in Milan. The food was great, so I went into the kitchen and told her to come and work for me.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Sì. I always find a direct approach works best.’
That was so Leo. You saw what you wanted, then you made it happen. Except, of course, when the circumstances were completely out of your control. Like finding out you are not the legitimate heir of the principality you had been raised to rule. Emma could see how hard that must have been for a proud man like him to accept. It was still there, held inside him, like a poisonous canker. But any attempts to broach the subject again, maybe try and talk it through with him, had been firmly shut down.
‘Did you know that one of her sons, Giuseppe, has got a new job working for a big pharmaceutical company?’ Emma speared a piece of ravioli. ‘Beatrice is thrilled because their youngest child has some health problems that have been putting a terrible strain on the family’s finances.’
‘Yes, I heard.’
Something about Leo’s guarded response made Emma suspicious and she looked up. ‘You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?’
‘Put it this way...’ Leo raised his wine glass to his lips, hooded eyes regarding Emma over the rim ‘...I like to reward my loyal staff if I can.’
‘And their families.’
‘And their families,’ Leo repeated, setting down his glass. ‘We Italians are all about families, you should know that.’ The grey eyes glittered.
Yes, Emma did know that. It was the reason she was here, after all. The sole reason. And that thought stuck like a barb in her skin. No matter how much she tried to justify the bizarre terms of their relationship, tell herself that this was the way it was, the way it would always be, it was still so hard to accept.
She took a sip of water, carefully replacing her glass. She could sense that Leo was already itching to go. Manners prevented him from leaving the table until Emma had finished, but that didn’t stop his foot from jiggling under the table, his fingers drumming very lightly on the top. Well, tonight he would have to wait.
‘We have had a lot more applications from journalists on the website today.’ She searched for his attention. ‘The standard is very high.’
‘Bene.’ Leo surreptitiously looked at his watch.
‘I’m confident we are going to get some really good people on board.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
Emma sighed. Bored with sitting around with nothing to do, she had asked Leo if she could get involved with some of the many charities that Raven Enterprises supported. But in typical Leo fashion he had escalated her request, suggesting they started a foundation in her name.
It was an exciting idea, if a bit daunting. Deciding she would like to use her experience in journalism somehow, and maybe focus on youth unemployment and homelessness—if nothing else, living at Villa Magenta had made her aware of just what a privileged life she was leading—she had taken these ideas to Leo and he had made them happen. Constructive journalism was key, he told her, taking a solution-focussed approach.
And so the foundation Read All About It had been born. Financial support for young journalists to work with charities and highlight the issues they faced. The idea was simple but brilliant.
Heading up a small team of people, Emma was really enjoying the challenge, the feeling she was making a difference. But there was disappointment too, because Leo had dissociated himself from the project as soon as it had been launched.
‘Would you like to look over some of the figures?’ She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘No need. The foundation is in your name, you have complete control.’
‘But it’s your money.’ She persisted. ‘Don’t you want to make sure it is being spent wisely?’
‘The lawyers will do that. That’s their job.’
Emma sighed. It was great that he trusted her to just get on with it, but the way he was distancing himself from any involvement felt like he was distancing her. Still further.
‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ She put down her fork. ‘Have you finished?’
‘Sì, grazie.’
‘Then I will get the dessert.’ With a determined air, Emma rose, collecting up the bowls.
‘Dessert?’ The surprise in his voice was not exactly encouraging. To be fair, she had never seen him eat anything sweet.
‘Yes. Beatrice asked me to show her how to make a traditional English pudding. I didn’t have exactly the right ingredients, so I had to make do.’
‘Well, I look forward to seeing the result.’ No, he didn’t.
‘Wait there.’ Emma stretched out an arm, as if to physically prevent him from escaping. She was determined not to let him cut and run. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
The pudding, as Emma removed it from the oven, was not all she had hoped it might be. Rather more solid than she’d intended, it was distinctly burnt on the top. And there was no sign of Beatrice to save it. Presumably she had abandoned it and Emma to their fate. Still, ever the optimist, Emma decided she could blag it. It wasn’t as if Leo knew how it was supposed to look.
‘Ta-da!’ She placed it on the table before him.
‘Is this a family recipe?’ Leo regarded it with suspicion.
Emma didn’t have any family recipes. She hadn’t had that sort of family.
‘No, it’s more like an old-fashioned English dish. But these retro puddings are all the rage now.’ She tried to dig the spoon in to serve Leo a portion, but it was surprisingly difficult.
‘Need any help?’
‘No, no.’ Emma ignored the smile in his voice, leaning forward to get some more leverage. ‘There you are.’ She placed the bowl in front of him.
‘Interesting.’ Leo turned a burnt corner over to peer underneath. ‘What is this delicacy called?’
‘Bread and butter pudding.’ Emma popped a bit in her mouth. It tasted as bad as it looked. ‘It was meant to be made with slices of white bread, but I had to use ciabatta.’
‘Very ingenious.’ His jaw worked with exaggerated force.
‘But I’m not sure it’s quite the same.’
‘Possibly not.’ Leo raised laughing eyes to meet hers, a curve shaping the firm lines of his mouth.
Emma looked down before her face betrayed her. Leo smiled so little that when he did it was like a full-on assault to the heart.
‘It’s disgusting, isn’t it?’ She risked looking up at him again.
‘Assolutamente disgustoso.’ He stuck in his fork which remained standing defiantly upright. ‘Though all is not lost. I dare say it could be used to fill some gaps in the walls.’
‘Oi!’ With a laugh Emma balled up her napkin and threw it at him but it missed, knocking over his wine glass, sending red wine spraying over Leo’s shirt. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry.’ She rushed round to pat at his shirt but immediately he was on his feet, trapping her in his arms. ‘You need to take that off right away. It will stain.’
‘Or you could do it for me, cara?’ He placed her hands on his chest, where his heart thudded beneath the damp fabric. Immediately Emma felt the familiar coil of desire, the pulsing clench of her core.
Her fingers started to work at the buttons, driven on by slumbering eyes darkening with desire. But their progress was halted by the persistent buzz of Leo’s phone in his trouser pocket.
‘Aspetta. Wait.’ He slid his hand down between them. ‘Let me turn this of
f.’
But that never happened. One glance at the screen and Emma saw his features pull tight, his whole body stiffen. ‘Mi scusi. I have to take this.’
It wasn’t even a proper apology. More a distracted mutter that he didn’t care if she heard or not. With his shoulders high he turned, his stride wide as he left the room with the phone clamped to his ear.
So that was it then. With a heavy sigh, Emma watched him go. Once again, she had been abandoned in favour of whatever deal he was doing, a business negotiation that was clearly far more important than she was. She glanced back across the table, at the offending pudding curling up before her eyes. Her gaze rose to the horizon, looking for inspiration, strength, a miracle—she didn’t know which.
Rising to her feet, she went over to the sunbed further along the terrace, picking up the book she had left there earlier. Stretching out on the padded cushions, she found her page. It looked as if this was the only company she would be having this evening.
‘Emma?’
She must have closed her eyes for a minute because the book on her lap had fallen to the floor. She leaned to pick it up. ‘Yes?’
‘Something has come up.’ Leo strode towards her, his silhouette dark, forbidding. ‘I have to go away.’
‘Oh, right.’ Emma collected herself, smoothing down her hair, drawing up her knees. She could tell from the tone of his voice that this was no ordinary business trip.
‘I will be gone for some time.’
‘When you say some time...’
‘I don’t know exactly. As long as it takes.’ Impatience simmered in his tone.
‘And when will you be leaving on this trip of indeterminate length?’ She hid her despondency behind a mask of sarcasm.
‘Tonight. Straight away.’
‘Tonight?!’ Emma swung her legs over the edge of the sunbed. ‘But it’s my twenty-week scan tomorrow. Surely whatever it is can wait until after that?’
‘No, Emma, this can’t wait.’ His jaw was set as firmly as his words.
