The Flaw in Raffaele's Revenge (Harlequin Presents)

by Annie West

  Raffa drew her against his mouth and his groin. How long since he’d felt that urgent spiral of desire? That restless hunger to possess?

  For years he’d been celibate, uninterested in women. Yet Lily, with her shaking hands and clumsy kisses, turned him on more than any practised seductress.

  She pressed in, her teeth mashing his lip. Her untutored eagerness was beguiling as nothing he’d ever experienced. Raffaele was used to women blasé about sex, who enjoyed it but were never surprised by it.

  By contrast he sensed shock as well as delight in Lily’s response. As if all this was new.

  Would you touch a woman who looked like this?

  Of course you wouldn’t.

  Her words slammed into him. And the memory of Lily’s grave eyes as she’d said it, hurt dragging her mouth down.

  In the midst of the maelstrom something inside him stilled, held its breath.

  Instinct urged him to take advantage of her eagerness. But some damned part of his brain had begun working, sifting what she’d said, analysing the inexperience in her kisses and clutching hands.

  It couldn’t be.

  No woman got to twenty-eight without being kissed.

  His mind reeled. It was inconceivable to a man who’d lost count of his sexual partners well before he was out of his teens. Yet the small, still reasoning part of his brain acknowledged Lily kissed like a virgin.

  Shock ground through his belly. Tangled threads of desire and guilt twisted into a jumbled knot that grew and grew till it pressed upon his chest, cramping his lungs, stopping his breath.

  He reared back, panting, heart hurling itself against his ribs. He looked down at parted lips, plump and pink. Almost, he slammed his mouth back onto hers as the tide of wanting rose.

  But he forced himself to think. To observe.

  Her breathing was even more out of kilter than his, her eyes closed. On one side of her face was clear, flushed skin, soft as silk. On the other, the broad, taut brand of healed flesh. She’d called it ugly, something from a horror movie. To Raffa it had merely become part of her, like the way she wrinkled her nose when he said something she disagreed with. Or the glow in her eyes when she forgot to be cautious and revealed her natural ebullience.

  Could it be true no man had got this close because of her scar?

  Or maybe she’d been too defensive to let one near. That, he could believe.

  Her eyes snapped open, searching with an intensity that made Raffa feel every one of his thirty-three tarnished years.

  He could barely remember being a virgin. He’d never kissed one in his life.

  As for taking one to bed, as he’d aimed to take Lily after a champagne supper—he shuddered, seeing the awed hope in her gaze. The innocence, for once unguarded.

  She trusted him.

  Raffa thought of the things he’d done to get where he was today, the seedy, special arrangements. He was sullied in ways Lily would never know. Ways that didn’t show on the outside, but were there, a stain nothing could remove.

  Aghast, he dropped his hands as a new thought needled.

  Had he, at some unconscious level, understood Lily’s innocence? Was he grasping for it as once, years ago, a jaded businesswoman had lusted after Raffa’s innocence as much as his young body and fair face?

  Bile rose in a gush. Acid filled his mouth, obliterating the taste of her, the beckoning, elusive flavour of innocent pleasure.

  What had he ever known of innocent pleasure?

  ‘Raffaele?’ Her whisper tugged his libido and his conscience—two entities that had lain dormant for so long he’d thought he’d lost both. ‘What is it?’

  Caution clouded her desire. It happened so fast it confirmed everything he’d wondered about the hurt she’d endured in the past. She’d schooled herself to disappointment.

  ‘You’re right,’ he croaked. ‘Dining together is a bad idea.’ He cleared his throat, forcing out the words. ‘It’s better if you leave.’

  She spun away before he stopped talking, was out of the villa within seconds. But not before he saw hurt in her eyes. And the way her head rocked back as if he’d hit her.

  Raffa stood where she’d left him, sucker-punched by an unseen blow to his belly at the pain he’d inflicted.

  Worse, though, was the knowledge he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t be the man Lily needed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HOURS LATER, LILY still cringed when she thought of the frantic way she’d clung to Raffaele, begging for more.

  One touch of his lips was all it had taken for every defence to collapse, laid waste by his caresses and her desperate hunger.

  She’d been so needy she’d thought she’d explode with wanting. Another kiss like that and she’d probably have climaxed where she stood. It almost made the years of waiting worth it, to experience such incandescent pleasure.

  Raffaele was a master of the sensual arts. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to continue the experiment. She’d been gauchely overeager, lost to everything but the wonder of her first kiss.

  Twenty-eight and kissed for the first time!

  And the last, if tonight was any indicator.

  Lily groaned and swung around to pace the darkened room. There was no danger of tripping over anything. She’d retraced her steps thousands of times in the last few hours, unable to settle while she was so awash with fury, frustration and embarrassment.

  Why, oh, why had she let him dare her into taking a risk? Into believing after all these years things had changed and her scar didn’t matter?

  Had she really thought Raffaele was attracted to her? The kiss was all about curiosity on his part and she’d left herself wide open to hurt.

  Her ribs seemed to contract around her frantically beating heart. She’d believed Raffaele different. Caring, despite his ruthless streak and patent expectation of always getting his own way. She’d never believed him cruel.

  But what he’d done tonight...

  Oh, get over it! You were only too eager to kiss the man. You can’t blame him for pulling back. Just because you’re besotted—

  Lily slammed an iron bar across that thought. She was not going there. Not now. Not ever.

  She was going to do what she always did. Pick herself up, dust herself off and get on with life. Bury herself in work. Strive to achieve.

  Except she’d left her laptop in his villa and nothing, not even a tsunami, was going to propel her back there.

  Her gaze went to the view beyond the window, the pale crescent of sand and dark glitter of water. There was one way she could expel this restless energy. Spinning on her heel, she crossed the room, reefing off her top and bra. Her skirt slithered to the floor and she stepped out of it, then her underwear, tugging pins from her hair. Naked, she grabbed the new swimsuit, obliterating any thought of the man who’d given it to her as she dragged it on. Of course he hadn’t chosen it personally.

  Moments later she was closing the door of her villa, breathing the sweet scent of blossom in the resort gardens and the tantalising saltiness of the sea. She took a step, only to slam to a halt as she saw something on her private patio.

  Someone, not something.

  In the starlight he looked impossibly tall as he vacated the chair and stood.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ The words were staccato beats, crashing through the silence. Adrenaline blasted her bloodstream, triggering heightened awareness. She registered the residual warmth of the flagstones beneath her bare feet, the throb of her pulse, the prickle as her flesh tightened, responding to Raffaele’s nearness. And the lingering taste of him on her tongue, like a delicacy her memory refused to discard.

  In the gloom she made out his characteristic shrug. ‘A while. I thought you were asleep.’

  Lily hadn’t bothered with lights. She didn’t want to face herself in the mirror. Darkness had been a refuge.

  ‘I don’t want you here.’ The words scraped from the bottom of her bruised soul.

  ‘I know.’ His voice sounded
curiously hollow.

  ‘Then why are you here?’ She jammed her hands on her hips, finding comfort in indignation.

  ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’

  ‘By sitting here in the dark?’ She’d never heard anything so unlikely.

  ‘I didn’t want to leave you all alone. I felt...responsible.’

  Ridiculous how that stung.

  ‘I’m an adult, Raffaele.’ She swallowed his name, hating that even now she loved the taste of it. Lily wanted to rage and curse at the power he had over her. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to loathe him.

  ‘There’s no need to feel responsible. I look after myself.’ For a moment she felt the weight of that drag at her shoulders. The years of being alone, dealing with everything solo. Then she straightened. ‘Don’t wait up for me. I’m going for a swim.’

  One swift step and he blocked her path. ‘At night?’

  Lily angled her jaw, as if she could meet his eyes in the shadows.

  ‘You’re not my keeper. Now step aside. There’s no need for this...’ she waved her hand dismissively ‘...show of solicitude. Go away and concentrate on Robert Bradshaw. He’s the reason you’re here.’

  She needed to remember that. Raffaele’s focus was business. He was single-minded to the point of obsession with this project. She was a curiosity, a diversion.

  ‘You can’t swim now. It’s too dangerous.’ The words sounded as if they’d been ground out, like glass splintering beneath a twisting boot. ‘What if you get a cramp and there’s no one to help?’

  A writhing, seething, lava-hot surge of anger shot through her, that he pretended to care. She sidestepped and stalked past.

  Hard fingers shackled her wrist, pulling her up short.

  ‘Let. Me. Go. Now.’

  ‘Lily, listen to me, I—’

  ‘No.’ She swung around, staring up into features now illuminated by starlight, features as flagrantly gorgeous as ever. Lily felt the inevitable lift inside her chest, then the slow burn of shame that she couldn’t, even now, eradicate the wanting.

  ‘You listen, Raffaele. I may be different to the people you know. I may look different. But I deserve respect. I’m not some amusing freak, here to entertain you in your downtime. I—’

  ‘Per la Madonna!’ The low roar of his voice filled the air, his hand gripping hers. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the truth.’

  A rush of words filled her ears, low, fluid, a non-stop litany of what had to be curses, though she couldn’t understand the Italian. She’d never heard Raffaele sound so far from the savvy, self-contained entrepreneur she knew.

  ‘You can’t think that! It’s not true.’

  Abruptly weariness gathered her in. What was the point of listening to Raffaele excuse his behaviour?

  ‘I’m not interested, Raffaele. Just go. Leave me be.’

  ‘Lily. I swear it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘What was it like, then?’ She knew she shouldn’t ask. His answer would only rub salt in the wound but she couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘It was...unbelievable. Better than I’d ever—’

  ‘No! Don’t you dare!’ Lily reefed her fingers from his, clapping her hands over her ears. ‘Don’t lie.’ She spun away, stumbling down the sandy path towards the beach.

  This time it wasn’t his hand that stopped her. It was his whole arm, looping around her waist, hauling her back against his tall frame. Heat and muscle burned her back. But it was nothing to the fire roaring within.

  ‘It’s no lie.’ His breath feathered her neck, stirring her hair. ‘Kissing you was the best thing I’ve done in years.’

  Lily shook her head. How was she supposed to stay strong when he used words like that to undo her? Despite her indignation, her knees wobbled. She was in danger of sagging against him.

  Deliberately she snorted her disgust. ‘Right. That’s why you pulled away as if you’d been burned. Why you told me to leave.’

  ‘I told you to leave because I realised you deserved better...than I can give you.’

  Her bitter laugh tore the night. ‘Better? You have to be kidding.’ He kissed like a god. What could be better? ‘You just didn’t like the way I kissed you back. It reminded you that it was ugly Lily Nolan in your arms.’

  Sibilants hissed against her ear as another burst of Italian washed around her, rougher this time. His arm at her waist turned hard as iron.

  ‘Didn’t like it? You have no idea.’ Gone were the smooth cadences of his seductive voice. Instead it sounded like gravel dipped in burning tar. ‘If I didn’t like it would I react like this?’

  He hauled her back so she was plastered against him. Hard thighs pressed into her and an enormous erection rose between the cheeks of her buttocks.

  Lily swallowed convulsively, eyes popping, not just at the impossibility of his arousal, but the sheer size.

  In this moment, with only the flimsy fabric of her swimsuit and his clothing between them, she felt her inexperience like a brand. The sensation of him jutting against her created a hollow ache between her legs. Even the liquid heat pooling there couldn’t fill the void.

  ‘Does it feel like I don’t want you?’ He ground against her. The slide of his arousal against her almost bare skin was unlike anything she’d ever known, the rough caress of his voice the most potently seductive sound she’d heard. ‘Well, cara? Does it? You’ve been driving me crazy.’ This time his lips touched her ear as he spoke, sending shivers of pleasure through her.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Don’t you? You might be a virgin but you’re not that innocent, Lily. You can feel how I want you.’

  The shivers turned to a mighty trembling that racked her from head to toe. She wanted him so badly her skin felt too tight, as if she was going to burst out of it. Need and excitement warred with a lifetime’s caution.

  She was beyond denying her lack of experience. What was the point? It must be obvious.

  ‘But you pushed me away.’ Did he hear the hurt she tried to disguise?

  ‘Of course I pushed you away. It wasn’t right. You deserve someone better.’

  Yet his arm clamped her to him. His body seared everywhere they touched, branding her. And that hard, swollen ridge against her backside... It took everything she had not to arch back, pressing into him.

  ‘That’s the second time you’ve said that,’ she gasped. ‘It still doesn’t make sense.’

  The sound of rough breathing filled her ears. His. Hers. The tumult of her pulse. Finally he spoke. ‘You’re an innocent. You deserve someone who can treasure that, turn your first time into something special.’

  ‘You can’t?’ It didn’t occur to Lily to play coy. Not with need battering her and Raffaele’s breath, his body, his words, an enticement she’d given up trying to resist.

  His laugh was short and sharp, off-key. He slid his arm across her stomach as if about to release her and Lily grabbed at it, holding on with both hands. His arm was sinewy, dusted with silky hair, every bit as gorgeous as it looked by daylight.

  ‘I have no experience of innocence, Lily. I’m not the man for you.’ There was finality in his words. They struck with the resonance of metal on stone.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Releasing her hold on his arm, she twisted round, breasts to his ribs. He was so hot. So heavy against her belly. The weight of his erection made it hard to think. But she wanted him enough to ignore pride and self-preservation.

  She slipped her hand, palm down, between them, curving it round his shaft. To her amazement it jumped in her hand as if it had a mind of its own. Her fingers flexed and tightened and she was rewarded with the sound of Raffaele’s hiss of shock.

  ‘Don’t, Lily.’ Hard fingers dug into her shoulders. ‘You need someone special for your first time. That shouldn’t be me. It shouldn’t be anyone like me.’

  Hands on her shoulders, he stepped back, creating distance. She felt his loss with a keening despera
tion.

  ‘Don’t go. I want—’

  ‘I want too, but it’s better this way. You’ll find someone—’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish. There won’t be anyone else. There hasn’t been and there won’t ever be.’ Not with her face.

  For a long, aching moment she waited for his response but there was none.

  Defeated, she pulled away so he had to release his hold or follow her. Of course he let her go.

  Exhaustion consumed her. The nervous energy that had kept her wired for hours bled away. She’d never felt so weary.

  ‘Just go, Raffaele. I’ve had enough. I can’t follow your logic. You say you want me but you refuse to take me. You say my looks don’t matter, but they do. You and I know they do.’ Deliberately she lifted her face so what light there was spilled across her features. ‘If they didn’t you wouldn’t hold back. You wouldn’t pretend I could choose to make love with you then tell me I can’t.’

  Lily heard the defeat in her voice and knew she’d reached breaking point. Swiftly she turned, grabbing the door of her bungalow. ‘I’ve never had that choice with any man and I never will.’

  Just once, Lily wanted passion, even if only for a night. She wanted to feel as close as a woman could to a man, to experience physical pleasure at a man’s hands. Not out of pity or kindness, but because he desired her as much as she did him.

  As if that will ever happen.

  Worse still, she wanted that with Raffaele. The man she feared she’d fallen for.

  Her shoulders jumped as she bit back a silent sob.

  The villa door opened easily and she felt sand under her feet as she stepped onto the cool tiles. But the door wouldn’t shut behind her. She looked over her shoulder to find Raffaele blocking it, following her inside.

  Desperation rose. ‘Please go.’ She couldn’t stomach more conversation. ‘I want to be alone.’

  He pulled the door from her hand, closing it behind him with a quiet snick, trapping them in darkness.

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Shh. It’s okay.’ Broad hands reached for her shoulders, drawing her to him, filling her with his spicy scent and that terrible, raw yearning.