by Penny Jordan
‘That wasn’t sex; that was making love.’
‘For me it was.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘But we all know that you don’t need to love a woman to—’
‘I need to love a woman to make love to her like that…’ He frowned down at her. ‘You were really going to walk away—after that?’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘You know, you’re a strange girl, Caitlyn…’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘A very good girl who is actually a very bad girl too.’
‘But in a good way?’ Caitlyn sniffed. She wasn’t actually thinking about that now. Her mind was trying to concentrate, to focus on what he’d just said, and her heart that had just slowed down was tripping into tachycardia again as she wrestled with the impossible. ‘What you said about loving…?’
‘I meant it.’
‘Meant what?’ Caitlyn asked gingerly, nibbling on her bottom lip, scared to check, scared to ask, in case she didn’t like the answer, scared to even hope.
‘That I love you.’
‘Oh.’
‘I love you,’ he said again.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
‘Say it again.’
‘I love you.’
‘So, what does that mean?’
He smiled down at her, massaging her raw and bruised ego with his eyes and words, and she let him. She needed to hear it. ‘That I don’t want to be without you—ever.’
‘And?’
‘That I want to wake up to you in the morning. I want you to annoy the hell out of me. I want you to confuse me—I don’t ever want to know you—’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Caitlyn interrupted. ‘What you meant to say was that you want to know me…’
‘I know exactly what I am saying. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to work you out. I love that you confuse me.’
‘Oh.’ Caitlyn smiled, closing her eyes—because she could now, because she knew that when she opened them he’d still be there.
‘In fact I fell in love with you a long time ago.’
‘When?’ Her eyes were still closed, and she was smiling, his words like the warm sun on her face. ‘At the hotel? Or was it in Rome…?’
‘Shut up and let me talk.’
So she did just that. And she was so, so glad that she did, or she might never have heard his amazing answer.
‘On the stroke of midnight the night we first met.’
‘It wasn’t midnight.’ She opened her eyes and her heart to him. She couldn’t be quiet, just couldn’t contain it. Because it was just so wonderful, so amazing, that he’d felt it too—that love, their love, had always been real, that the torch she’d carried for him had had heavy-duty batteries for a very good reason. ‘It was ten to twelve. Because I specifically remember looking at the clock. It was at ten minutes to twelve that we fell in love.’
‘Just because you move fast, it doesn’t mean that I have to…I like to take my time and think about these things.’ He kissed her, kissed her between sentences—like a gorgeous long meal, like a wonderful smorgasbord, where you didn’t have to rush, could just pick and choose the good bits and go back for more whenever you wanted. You could start and finish with dessert if you wanted, or just get full on a thousand prawns. ‘I went into the ballroom and everyone was talking. I had friends around me, a good malt whisky in my hand and a beautiful woman on my arm, and I looked at my watch, and I looked at the closed door, and I wanted to be on the other side of it. I had everything a man could want—only it didn’t feel right because you weren’t there.’
‘I’m here now,’ Caitlyn said softly.
‘So am I…’He rained her face with butterfly kisses, and she rained them back, kissing away all the hurt and the grief, chasing away all the horrible, scary shadows till there was only light left. ‘I’m here, where I belong.’
EPILOGUE
‘DO YOU want me to say something?’ Caitlyn offered as Lazzaro called for the bill.
‘The food was fantastic,’ Lazzaro said. ‘Let’s not make a fuss.’
‘But every time we come here they get it wrong! I specifically ordered the mushroom risotto, and we got vegetarian arranchini.’
Lazzaro peeled off another note and added it to his already generous tip. They were sitting in one of the smartest cafés in Rome, and the waiter had in fact done an amazing job—deciphering somehow, from Caitlyn’s truly appalling Italian, that they wanted rice and vegetables.
It was bad.
Even after a year of flying between two amazing cities—even after having a son who had been born here in Rome—Caitlyn’s mastery of the language was poor, to say the least. But her Italian was delivered with such flair, such passion and enthusiasm, and such a warm, generous smile, that no one—not the doctors, nor the midwives, nor the hotel staff or even a waiter—had the heart to tell her.
‘Che era meraviglioso—grazie.’ Caitlyn beamed at the bemused waiter as she clipped little Dante into his pram and wheeled him out of the restaurant.
‘That was wonderful—thank you…’ Lazzaro loosely translated, rolling his eyes and mouthing another thank-you to the waiter, then joining his wife and new son on the street outside.
‘You’d think they’d never seen a blond baby.’ Caitlyn smiled as everyone who passed cooed into the stroller. ‘Mind you—he is gorgeous.’
And the image of Caitlyn.
Blond, already lifting his head and taking in the world, smiling and cooing at six weeks and refusing to sleep, he was a carbon copy of his mother—and Lazzaro, just as he was with his wife, was completely smitten.
‘Right—time to look for a gift. I still don’t get why some people don’t have a bridal registry,’ Lazzaro said as they wandered the streets.
‘We didn’t…’ Caitlyn pointed out.
‘Because you refused to—and just look at the pile of rubbish we ended up with.’ Lazzaro stared moodily into a gallery. ‘She’s been married already—she got everything she wanted the first time around…’
‘And she got everything she wanted in the divorce.’ Caitlyn giggled. ‘How about that?’ she asked, pointing to a painting in the window of the modern art gallery.
‘It could have been done by a five-year-old—in fact, give Dante a brush and he could do better.’
‘It’s divine,’ Caitlyn breathed.
‘It’s three circles within a circle.’
‘Antonia, Marianna and baby Luca, and circling them, looking out for them, is Dario.’
‘I still think the wedding should be at Ranaldi’s.’ Lazzaro was still staring at the picture and trying to see what she saw—trying to work out Caitlyn’s impossible, crazy take on the world, trying to take in that Antonia was marrying his friend Alberto’s son. ‘I would have done it better.’
‘Probably.’ Caitlyn shrugged. ‘But I’d never have seen you—you’d have spent the night marching around the kitchen insisting everything was “the best”. This way, you get to enjoy yourself…’ She was suddenly serious. ‘Anyway, Alberto is enjoying organising it—it’s good to see him happy after the year he’s had.’
‘I know,’ Lazzaro conceded.
‘And talking of weddings…’A mischievous smile was on her lips, but two circles of red were burning on her cheeks as she broached a terribly taboo subject. ‘Can you believe Roxanne and Malvolio sent us an invitation to theirs? Can you believe they actually invited us?’
They were inside the gallery now. Lazzaro was ignoring the owner’s effusive attempts to discuss the delightful piece they were buying—instead handing over his credit card and giving the details as to where it should be sent.
‘They deserve each other!’ Lazzaro hissed as they stepped outside.
‘Well, they’ve got each other.’ Caitlyn laughed. ‘Thanks in small part to me. Did I tell you I hexed her?’
‘Hexed her?’ Lazzaro frowned—he was pushing the stroller now, guiding it down the bumpy steps as Caitlyn clipped alongside, and this time he wasn’t pretending not to understand—he honestly
didn’t.
‘I wrapped her name around a piece of garlic and stuck it in the freezer—she’s getting her just deserts!’
‘You’re telling me that you put a spell on her?’
‘Just a little one.’ Caitlyn pouted. ‘Wishes do come true, you know.’
‘Then make one.’
They were back at the Trevi Fountain and Lazzaro was rummaging in his pocket for loose change. Only Caitlyn didn’t need to waste a wish—didn’t need to wish on a coin or a star, or cut up pictures—because she knew without wishing that they’d be back for more, knew without question that they were in this for ever.
‘Go on,’ Lazzaro prompted, holding out a coin, but Caitlyn shook her head.
‘I’ve got all my wishes—how about you?’
‘Just one…’ He tossed the coin into the fountain, then pulled her towards him as only Lazzaro could. ‘A girl.’
‘A girl?’
‘Or a boy.’ Lazzaro shrugged. ‘I want another mini-you.’
‘It might be a mini-you this time.’
‘I don’t care.’ Lazzaro laughed, as he did often these days. ‘Let’s just go and make another baby.’
The Sicilian’s Innocent Mistress
By Carole Mortimer
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘SO, WHICH look do you think is going to attract the attention of a heartbreaker like film producer Luc Gambrelli?’ Darci prompted Kerry consideringly, as she threw open the door to her wardrobe and brought out a white dress. ‘The demure virgin?’
She held the garment against her, its plain styling covering her tall slenderness from neck to knee. She pulled her heavy length of red hair away from the delicate lines of her heart-shaped face, at the same time lowering her head, her expression youthfully coy as she looked at Kerry with moss-green eyes through long dark lashes.
Her flatmate and long-term friend laughed softly as she sat on the bed, watching the display. ‘Or…?’ Kerry queried smilingly.
‘Or sexy vamp?’ Darci threw the white dress down on the bed and pulled out a slinky black gown, its ribbon shoulder straps, low neckline, body-hugging style and length—three inches above the knee—leaving very little to the imagination as she held it against her, releasing her hair to fluff its long, fiery length enticingly about her face and shoulders as she adopted a deliberately seductive pose.
‘Hmm.’ Kerry grimaced. ‘Somewhere in between the two, I think. Grant once told me that every man’s perfect fantasy woman is one who’s as beautiful and charming as an angel in public and as sexy as a she-devil in his bed!’
Darci’s brows rose. ‘My big brother told you that?’
‘Years ago, at university.’ Kerry, a tiny brunette, laughed at Darci’s surprised expression. ‘I think we had all just come home from a party at the time, and he was bemoaning the fact that he doubted he was ever going to meet his perfect woman.’
‘Well, he was right about that, anyway; at twenty-eight he’s still a bachelor. In fact, just like me, there isn’t a permanent relationship in sight,’ Darci added with a slight frown. ‘If there was, he wouldn’t have asked me to accompany him to his latest film premiere!’
Exactly five minutes older than Darci, her twin brother was an extremely successful film director. He had scaled the heady heights to superstardom during the last four years, his last two films having been box office hits. Grant was hoping to add to his current run of success with the premiere of his latest film the following evening. A premiere where, as the producer of the film, Luc Gambrelli was also going to be in attendance.
A delicious coincidence too convenient to resist as far as Darci was concerned…
She looked at the two dresses critically. ‘So, somewhere in between, you think…? Of course it would probably help if I knew whether Luc Gambrelli preferred redheads to brunettes or blondes.’
‘Depends on the day of the week, I expect,’ Kerry dismissed sagely. ‘Monday a blonde. Tuesday a brunette. Wednesday a redhead. Et cetera. From the gossip about him in the newspapers over the years, he appears to have a different woman for each day of the week,’ she explained, at Darci’s puzzled look.
Darci pondered her friend’s words. ‘Then we can only hope that it’s redheads on a Thursday evening!’
Her friend gave her a rueful smile. ‘You really intend going through with this…?’
‘And hopefully giving Luc Gambrelli a taste of his own heartless medicine?’ Darci said distractedly, as she began another search through her wardrobe for the perfect dress to wear tomorrow evening. ‘He broke Mellie’s heart, remember. Of course I’m going to get Grant to introduce the two of us at the premiere in the hope of attracting his attention—and then I shall have the pleasure of giving him one almighty set-down if he does show any interest. It’s about time some woman let the arrogant Luc Gambrelli know that every female he meets isn’t going to swoon at his feet!’ she added with determination.
‘Isn’t being rude to someone as powerful as film producer Luc Gambrelli possibly going to have fall-out and damage Grant’s career?’ Kerry responded.
‘That’s the best part.’ Darci grinned. ‘My big brother is so much the golden boy movie director at the moment that he simply can’t be touched!’
Kerry still looked worried. ‘Yet from what I’ve read, the film world is a precarious one; someone can be the darling of the moment one minute and a total outcast the next!’
‘Do you really think Luc Gambrelli would be petty enough to take his disappointment out on Grant?’ Darci said disbelievingly.
‘He might,’ Kerry returned.
Darci laughed as she bent down to hug the other woman. ‘You always were the worrier amongst us!’ she told Kerry affectionately, knowing that if it weren’t for her friend’s caution in earlier years she would have got into many more scrapes than she had, her own nature—part of being a redhead, perhaps?—having been much more impetuous.
And Darci had no intention of backing off from Luc Gambrelli. Not after what he had done to Mellie…
‘You do realise that Luc Gambrelli will probably be with someone tomorrow evening…?’ Kerry persisted.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Darci announced with satisfaction. ‘Grant told me that Luc Gambrelli is escorting the female lead, Jackie Tunbridge. She’s new to all this, and a little nervous, and apparently Luc Gambrelli has been a little more circumspect in who he takes where recently.’ She paused to consider for a moment, then continued, ‘Grant says it’s because he doesn’t want to get caught in the marital trap, like his brother and his cousin. Count Wolf Gambrelli and Cesare Gambrelli,’ she explained, as Kerry looked totally blank.
‘Luc Gambrelli is related to those two?’ Kerry gasped after a few seconds.
Darci nodded. ‘His brother is the Count, no less,’ she confirmed, still searching through her wardrobe for exactly the right dress to wear tomorrow evening. ‘It’s no good,’ she conceded, as she turned back into the bedroom decisively. ‘I’ll have to go out tomorrow and look for something new.’
‘But you hate shopping for new clothes,’ her friend reminded her.
Darci scowled. ‘For the chance to put the oh-I-think-I’m-so-wonderful Luc Gambrelli firmly in his place I’ll make an exception! Kerry, I know you don’t think this is a good idea,’ she said, as Kerry carried on looking doubtful. ‘But the man really can’t be allowed to just cold-heartedly break the heart of one of my very best friends without some sort of retaliation!’
Kerry, Mellie and Darci had been at school together, and then had stuc
k with each other while taking further education courses in London: Kerry had taken a degree in History, Mellie had gone to drama school and Darci had chosen Medicine. Grant, having known Darci’s old friends well, and having attended university, too, had joined them in sharing a house during those years of studying.
The passing years had forged a bond between the four of them that was as close, if not closer, than family; if one of them was hurt, the others felt it, too.
And then, six weeks ago, Mellie’s tender heart had been broken by the heartless Luc Gambrelli!
After university Grant had gone to Los Angeles, and the three women had taken another apartment together in London. Then, six months ago, Mellie—after some mild success on the London stage—had gone to Los Angeles, too, in order to look for acting roles.
Which was how she had met and fallen in love with the famous film producer Luc Gambrelli.
The two had got together at a party—Luc Gambrelli apparently dazzling Mellie completely when he’d assured her that she was perfect for a part in the film he was shortly going to put into production.
Kerry and Darci had followed the Italian film producer’s seduction of Mellie via their friend’s frequent telephone calls and e-mails, and she’d waxed lyrical about how wonderful he was, how he had swept her off her feet, pursuing her relentlessly as he showered her with flowers and gifts until his conquest was secure and Mellie was head-over-heels in love with him and more than eager to share his bed. An experience Mellie had related to her two friends in erotic detail.
After which the heartless pig had just disappeared out of Mellie’s life, as had the prospective part in his film, leaving her broken-hearted as she realised she had fallen for the oldest trick in the book when it came to acting—the casting couch. Or, in this case, Luc Gambrelli’s silk-sheeted bed!
