‘You can probably guess in whose favour.’
He made a movement somewhere between a shrug and a shiver and fell silent, leaning back against the wall as though exhausted.
Flora breathed out shakily. It was cruel. More than cruel, it was abusive. How could anyone treat a child like that? It was incomprehensible. Alida was obviously selfish and spiteful, but Massimo’s father— She shivered. How did anyone survive a betrayal like that? But with shock, she realised she knew how: by offering love and support.
Except that there didn’t seem to be much of that in Massimo’s life.
He had money and power, the envy and respect of his rivals and the admiration of his staff. But nothing approximating to tenderness or care. Even his many affairs seemed to have offered him nothing more than sexual gratification.
He was like a plant that had been forced to survive in the darkest, driest corner of a garden. If only he was a plant, she thought helplessly. It would be so much easier. She would know exactly what to do.
Even before her brain had started to process that thought her body responded and, leaning forward, she slid her arms around him. For a moment he didn’t move, and then slowly he pressed her against him.
And there, wrapped in his arms, she knew.
Knew without a shred of doubt or denial that she loved him. Her heart missed a beat. Surely it couldn’t be true.
Love was dangerous. Love hurt. Even years after her mum’s death, her father was still tormented by her loss. But she saw now that none of that mattered. All her fears and all those careful plans she’d made to stay single and safe had been for nothing. She didn’t get to choose. Her heart did. And, no matter how disastrous the consequences might be for her, it had chosen Massimo.
Words of joy bubbled up inside her but she stemmed the flow. There had been enough talking for one night. Right now Massimo needing some tender loving care, and what she had in mind didn’t require words.
She felt his lips brush across her hair and, looking up, she smiled. ‘Let’s go home.’
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS THE early hours of the morning when they walked back into the palazzo.
Tired though she was, Flora didn’t think she’d ever been happier. Yes, they’d quarrelled, and it had been difficult and upsetting, but for the first time sex hadn’t been their ‘go-to’ to blot out the pain of the past or resolve the tension between them. Instead, they had talked and faced Massimo’s demons together.
No longer two people just having sex. But equals coming together, side by side, to take on the world.
Walking up the stairs to his bedroom, Massimo kissed her with a tenderness and soft warmth that seemed to Flora to complement perfectly the golden glow of the dawn and their new mood of openness.
His eyes steady on hers, he touched her face almost reverently, his thumb brushing lightly over the smooth skin of her cheeks. And then, coaxing her lips apart with his tongue, his breath quick and warm against her mouth, he kissed her. It was a kiss she would remember all her life. A kiss that tasted of hope and dappled sunlight and everything crisp and green and new.
The sex felt different too, the incredible, raw physical attraction they felt for one another deepening into something more intimate, something bred from trust and openness. Riding a wave of sensation and arousal, they made love slowly, letting the memories of the past slip away in each other’s arms, leaving only pleasure and longing behind. It felt like the most glorious dream... Time ceased to matter...sharp edges blurred into spinning circles of colour and light...
She didn’t remember falling asleep.
But waking beside him, his body curved around hers, she knew that it hadn’t been a dream. It was real. He’d even suggested that she return to Rome with him for a couple of days so he could show her the sights properly.
Wriggling down into the warmth of the bed, she felt a rush of happiness. Beside her, he shifted in his sleep and, looking over at him, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Sleeping, he looked younger, more defenceless—and she shivered, remembering everything he’d told her last night.
Even now the facts of his childhood horrified her, for she knew now how much it had damaged the adult Massimo. She knew too how much it must have cost him to reveal the truth to her. To trust her with his pain. A tiny hope sparked inside her. But he had trusted her and needed her. Needed her for more than just sexual gratification.
That had to mean something, didn’t it?
She breathed out softly. Last night he had let her in; he’d shown her the ‘real’ Massimo. Not the über-cool, autocratic billionaire businessman, polished and harder than a diamond, but the man beneath the image.
The man she loved.
Her heart contracted and suddenly she wanted to leap out of bed and cartwheel around the room.
Was this how love felt?
Was this really what she’d been hiding from all these years?
She stared up at the ceiling, feeling reckless and wild and alive. If she’d been an artist, like Umberto, she would have tried to paint her emotions. Just to see what they looked like. But instead she lay on her side and watched the sunlight and shadows play slowly across Massimo’s face.
She loved him.
Frowning, she closed her eyes, shaken by how obvious it was to her now that what she’d been feeling for him was love.
It hardly seemed possible.
For so long she had pushed away all thoughts of ever giving her heart to anyone. She’d had boyfriends, but nothing that serious or permanent. In fact, in the past few years, she’d probably been closest to Umberto, and she hadn’t even been romantically involved with him. Not that she had minded. She’d been content to watch others fall in love; she’d never wanted more.
Until now.
Until Massimo.
She breathed out slowly. When her mum had died it had been as if a fuse had blown inside her head. Alone and confused in the dark, she’d started to fear what lay outside. But Massimo had changed everything. He had brought light and hope into the darkness.
And she knew now that she’d rather feel everything with him—happiness and despair—than nothing on her own. He was worth the risk.
But would he feel the same way?
Feeling suddenly impossibly restless, she slid out of bed quietly, so as not to wake him, tugged on a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt and tiptoed towards the door. It was too difficult to lie beside him, hoping that he might wake up feeling what she was feeling. Particularly when she’d barely come to terms with those feelings herself.
In the kitchen, she paced nervously around the table, trying to order her thoughts. They barely knew one another, and up until a few hours ago their relationship had been based almost entirely on sex. It would be foolish, not to say disastrous, for her to imagine that was a good foundation for a future together.
But what was happening inside her head and her heart had nothing to do with sex. It was love.
Why else would she no longer want to fight with him—but for him? And why else would she finally be ready to pull down the emotional barriers she’d built to protect herself from the pain of caring?
In the past, she had been so scared of getting hurt, it had been easy to corral her emotions, to keep her distance. But being with Massimo had made her want to get closer. He’d quelled her fears, unlocked her life and given her the chance to dream again.
A sweet, shimmering happiness spread over her skin and suddenly she wanted him to know. Wanted him to know that she loved him and share her happiness.
Heart pounding, she turned towards the door—just as her stomach gave a loud rumble. Except she couldn’t do it on an empty stomach. She would need a strong cup of coffee first. Or better still, some eggs and bacon!
* * *
Stifling a yawn, Massimo rolled ont
o his side. From downstairs he heard the sound of water running, cupboard doors shutting and, leaning over, he picked up his watch. He frowned. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon! Still, it was hardly surprising they’d slept in so late. They hadn’t got to bed until three. He gave a smile of pure masculine satisfaction. Or to sleep until five.
His smile faded. It wasn’t just their fevered lovemaking that had wiped him out. Last night had been emotionally draining too. He’d pretty much told her everything about his past: every hellish detail. He hadn’t planned to—he still didn’t really understand how he’d ended up doing so—but...
He braced himself against the bed. Until he’d met Flora his childhood had always been a locked room inside his head. And for good reason. His memories had power: the power to make him feel like a desperate, unhappy little boy again. Thinking about it, let alone discussing it with anyone, had simply not been an option. And he’d worked hard to keep it that way.
But somehow, yesterday, Flora had not only picked the lock, she’d kicked the damn door off its hinges.
How had she managed to do that? To blow his mind, his life, wide open like that?
Probably because she’d known grief too, he thought quickly. It had nothing to do with who she was as a person. Remembering her anxious face watching his, he shifted uncomfortably in the bed. Except that it did! She had put her own grief to one side and let him rage. She had listened, and she had forced him to face his feelings, and somehow that had lessened their power to hurt him. She hadn’t actually held his hand, but she had been there by his side. And instead of feeling claustrophobic, it had felt liberating. His breathing slowed.
What if she was always there? By his side?
His phone juddered on the bedside table, and still reeling from the idea that his relationship with Flora could be more than just a no-strings fling, he picked it up without thinking. Glancing at the screen, he froze.
There were eleven messages.
All from Alida.
Deep inside he felt a familiar shifting sensation—a sense that his footing was not stable—he frowned. But why? Last night, Flora had helped him face the past: now he would face the present. And this time it would be different. He would be different: calm, detached, unassailable.
Standing up, he took a deep breath and punched a number into his phone.
‘Finally! I would have thought you could have at least rung to see how I was.’
Even though he’d known what to expect, her voice sliced through his nerves like a scalpel. It was as polished and deadly as her glossily painted fingernails, and instantly he felt his bravado fail and once again, he was small and young and stupid.
Breathing out jerkily, his fingers tightened around the phone. ‘I thought we agreed last night it wasn’t serious?’
He heard her laugh—a tight, bitter sound that made his heart bang against his ribs.
‘You mean compared to dining with the Prime Minister?’
He swallowed. ‘There wasn’t anything I could do—’
‘There never is. Not now. Now you’re far too important to be bothering with me.’ Her voice was spiralling higher and higher. ‘Too busy making all that money and sleeping with all those women to have time to talk to me.’
‘I spoke to you yesterday—’
‘You lost your temper with me yesterday! I can’t imagine what your father would have said if he was still alive.’
‘Can’t you? I think that’s highly unlikely. He’d have said exactly what you told him to say.’
Even before he’d finished speaking he knew his tone had come out more accusatory and emotional than he’d intended.
‘Oh, here we go.’
He flinched. She was spitting the words down the phone at him, bile and bitterness ricocheting over the line.
‘You needed boundaries. I was simply supporting your father. And you were so difficult to love. Always crying or having a tantrum. Poor little Massimo! Only you’re not poor, are you? You’re rolling in money. But what do I see of it? You barely send me enough to keep a cat alive—’
He was shivering uncontrollably, his heart beating like a trapped bird.
‘I’ll arrange for some money to be transferred this morning,’ he heard himself say. ‘I have to go now—’
With a hand that shook slightly he switched off his phone and sat down on the bed.
Earlier, he had felt so calm—lighter, almost. But the conversation with Alida had changed everything. Now his heart was racing, his nerves screaming like a car alarm.
How could he have been so stupid? Telling Flora about his past had been foolhardy and self-indulgent—for surely that same past had taught him that letting someone into your life, your head and, worse, your heart was tantamount to giving them control over you. He felt sick to his stomach. Look at how his father had changed after marrying Alida. Look at how Alida still knew exactly which buttons to press to make him feel helpless and trapped—
He should have followed his instincts to keep his private life private. Confiding in Flora had undermined all the efforts he’d made to keep control of his life. It had been careless, reckless even—he winced. How could he have thought he might want something other than sex with Flora?
He gritted his teeth. She’d caught him off guard. But it wouldn’t happen again.
He couldn’t let himself feel differently. Any more than he could alter his past. What he and Flora had was purely physical. He knew that now. And he needed to remind her of that fact as soon and as firmly as possible.
Picking up his clothes, he began to get dressed.
* * *
Humming softly, Flora picked up the heavy cast-iron skillet and put it on the hotplate. Next she filled the kettle with water and put it beside the skillet. Frowning, she looked round for the coffee pot. It wasn’t in its normal place at the back of the stove. Nor was it in the dishwasher.
Bending over, she opened the doors of the huge dresser that nearly reached the ceiling and peered along the shelves. It wasn’t there either. Sighing, she straightened up—and found Massimo watching her intently.
‘Hi!’
She stared at him uncertainly. Despite privately acknowledging her feelings for him, she didn’t really know what to expect from Massimo. Some awkwardness, maybe. But definitely closeness, given what they’d shared last night. Only he didn’t seem awkward. Nor did he seem particularly inclined to be intimate. Standing just inside the doorway, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, he looked more wary than anything.
His manner set her teeth on edge. It was hard to believe that she had been about to cook this man breakfast. Let alone tell him that she loved him.
But last night had been pretty intense for both of them. Probably he just needed a little time to relax.
‘I can’t find the coffee pot. The blue one,’ she said, turning back towards the dresser. ‘Have you seen it?’
He shook his head. ‘No. But it might be in my study.’
He walked slowly across the room, his impassive face jarring against her nervous, hopeful excitement and quite suddenly the kitchen felt small and oppressive. ‘I’ll go and get it,’ she said hurriedly. ‘You can get the bacon—I mean the pancetta—out of the fridge.’
Standing in the hallway, she breathed out slowly. It had all felt so clear and right earlier.
Loving him had felt right.
Only now she wasn’t so sure.
He was acting so strangely. Aloof and on edge—almost as though he was waiting to say something...
Pushing open the door to the room Massimo had appropriated for an office, she saw the coffee pot immediately. It was on his desk.
Sighing, she picked it up and turned to leave—and then, glancing down at the papers scattered across his desk, she felt the handle start to slip from her fingers. She gripp
ed it more tightly. Inside her chest her heart had started to pound painfully hard.
She must be mistaken...but she knew she wasn’t.
Massimo had moved. He was standing next to the stove, staring across the kitchen, his eyes dark and unreadable.
As she walked through the door he looked up at her, and she felt a surge of fury at his cool expression.
Trying to hold on to her temper, she put the coffee pot down on the worktop with exaggerated care and then casually, almost as an afterthought, dropped the plans she’d found in his study onto the kitchen table.
‘These were on your desk.’
She felt it in the air first: the shift between them, the quivering rise in tension. Suddenly the room seemed to shrink around them.
Looking up, she met his gaze. ‘They’re plans for a development. Here. At the palazzo. But then you knew that, didn’t you?’ Her throat seemed to have closed up. Lifting her hand, she pressed it against her neck. ‘I’m just wondering why didn’t you tell me?’
Even saying the words hurt so much she could hardly breathe. He had held her in his arms, pushed inside her body, and yet he’d kept this from her.
How could he have done that?
Furiously, she realised how naive she’d been. At first, she’d assumed Massimo wanted the house for himself. Later, his furious determination to get her out was finally explained when the plans to convert the palazzo into a hotel were made public. But it had never occurred to her that there might be an even bigger picture.
But there was. And it was much, much bigger than she could have ever have imagined.
She looked back at the plans and shock hit her again like a punch to the stomach. Anger was rising inside her. And outrage too. These weren’t plans for a development.
They were plans for an occupation.
‘This is my home. You can’t just decide that you want to knock it down and build some massive resort in its place.’ Her voice was rising. ‘There must be nearly fifty villas on those plans. And a golf course. It’s huge—’
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 14
