by Lynne Graham
‘Well, thank you. That was....interesting.’ Eyebrows raised innocently, she blinked at him.
‘It was terrible, wasn’t it?’ Tearing at a hunk of dry bread, Rafael, obviously still hungry, put a piece in his mouth and chewed, his strong jawline moving rhythmically. ‘But before you mock don’t forget it’s your turn tomorrow. Your chance to show me these new-found skills.’
‘I never said they were culinary skills.’ Letting her guard slip for a moment, Lottie batted back what was meant to be a light-hearted quip, but Rafael instantly stiffened, twisting round on the stool to face her.
‘So what other skills might we be talking about?’ His voice was suddenly hard, probing, the whole mood having changed in an instant.
‘None—nothing.’ Lottie frowned at him. ‘I was just messing about.’
‘Have you been messing about, Lottie?’ Rafael’s eyes bored into her, scanning her face for answers. ‘That’s what I want to know.’
‘Rafe, stop this. That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘But there have been other men?’
Suddenly angry, Lottie reared up. ‘I think you will find that is none of your damned business.’ She could feel the heat sweeping across her cheeks, temper mixed with indignation and defiance shooting violet sparks into her icy blue eyes as she held her body taut. ‘And besides, why do you even need to ask? Haven’t your nasty little private investigators already given you all the information you need? In fact, why don’t you tell me what I’ve been up to? You probably know more than I do.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous.’
‘So nothing, eh? Your grubby little spies could uncover nothing?’ She glared at him. ‘But it’s still left you wondering, hasn’t it? Whether maybe they missed something—maybe I do have a lover tucked away that you know nothing about?’
‘And do you?’ His voice was lethally low, his eyes warning her that she was entering very dangerous territory with this taunt.
‘No. I don’t, as it happens. But what if I did? What right do you have to poke your nose into my love-life when no doubt you have had a string of women in your bed?’ She paused, her pent-up breath swelling her breasts as she dared him, willed him to deny it.
But he just continued to glower at her, his egotism, his gall, the downright sexual arrogance of him fuelling her outrage and jealousy, bringing bile to the surface.
‘Any women I might have had are none of your damned business.’ The weight of his words broke the cruel silence.
Slipping off her stool, Lottie knew she had to get away from him. She was not going to fling herself into that bear-pit of torture. Not today, at any rate.
‘I’m going to bed.’
Suddenly he was beside her, pulling her towards him, locking his arms around her unyielding body in the steel ring of his embrace.
‘Get off me.’
She struggled to free herself from his arms but then stopped when the contact between them threatened to take a different, much more worrying turn. As he loosened his grip slightly, just enough to pull back and look into her face, Rafael’s blazing stare told her that he had felt it too.
Dropping his arms, he turned his back, walked away from her. ‘I think you need to remember what Dr Oveisi said.’ He spoke coldly over his shoulder. ‘You really shouldn’t get yourself all worked up, you know. It’s not good for you...’ He paused, hesitating over his choice of words. ‘Or for the chances of the pregnancy working.’
Could he be more arrogantly, impossibly infuriating? Lottie didn’t know what enraged her the most. His audacity in cross-examining her about her love-life or the patronising way he thought he could control her.
‘Don’t you dare start telling me how to behave.’ She fired off the words at the broad expanse of his back. ‘You started this fight—twisting my words, cross-examining me about my love-life. You are the one that needs to think about their behaviour.’
‘I suggest you try and get a good night’s sleep.’ Turning round, Rafael levelled cold dark eyes in her direction. ‘I’m sure you will feel better in the morning.’
* * *
Wandering out on to the terrace, Rafael followed the pathway down towards the ornate iron gates that opened directly onto the lake. Turning the heavy old key in the lock, he let the gates swing open and descended the steep flight of steps down to the water, his footsteps hollow against the worn stone. A row of striped mooring poles stood to attention in front of him, the furthest one having a sleek speedboat tethered to it, the water gently slapping at its sides.
Seating himself on the boardwalk, Rafael let his legs hang over the water, absently staring down into the rippling blackness.
Today had seen the first stage of his mission accomplished. His only hope of fatherhood had finally been given its chance of life. Whether it worked or not was now down to the tiny blob of cells, five days’ worth of shared genes, set free from its frozen prison, free to make its own decision about the future.
He should have been feeling elated—jubilant. This had been his goal ever since he had been delivered the devastating news that the accident had rendered him sterile. But there was no elation, just anger—with himself and with the situation.
What had he been thinking, getting into an argument with Lottie on the very first evening? Wasn’t he supposed to be making this a stress-free fortnight? It had come out of nowhere, that primal jealousy—fury, even—that she might have been with another man. He couldn’t think about it, couldn’t bear to go there. His investigations had revealed nothing, and she had said there was no one. He had to leave it at that.
But still the thought of her in the arms of another man tortured him as viciously now as it had when she had first left him. The idea that some bastard might have taken her to his bed, touched her, made love to her, poured a river of molten lava through his veins.
It wasn’t as if he had remained celibate. Lottie was right. There had been other women—probably not as many as she imagined, but women who had shared his bed, satisfied his needs. But none of them had meant anything. Since the day Lottie had left him, the day she had told him she had never loved him, it was as if that part of him had died—the part that was capable of really feeling, the part that was capable of love.
But now that Lottie was back in his life he realised that the feelings he had thought were dead—had been sure were dead, in fact—were just buried, deep down inside him. Seeing her again, spending time with her, had brought them all back up to the surface, leaving them exposed to the elements like blind earthworms, ready to be pecked at by a circling crow.
Well, that was not going to happen. No matter how alluring she might be, how the turn of her head or the tilt of her chin might take him straight back to the lovely young woman he had fallen in love with, how unconsciously sexy, how damned infuriatingly, grabbably gorgeous she was...he was not going to open his heart to her again. After all, hadn’t she spelled out her feelings clearly enough to him? Or lack of them, at any rate. What sort of fool would go back for a second helping of that?
* * *
Upstairs in the cream and white-painted bedroom, Lottie, wearing the sensible cotton nightie that had been mysteriously laid out for her, slipped into the freshly made bed, propping the pillows up behind her. Her head felt as if it might explode with everything that had happened that day. Pulling the duvet under her chin, she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly, trying to find some rational logic, something to justify the crazy madness of it all.
Except, of course, there was none. Rational logic would have screamed at her not to do this, to get straight back on a plane to England and flee the deadly cocktail of longing and torment that was Rafael Revaldi. Rational logic would have saved her from the way she felt now, her whole body churning with impotent resentment and powerlessness.
How dared he come over all
caveman like that? What right did he have to challenge her about her love-life when she knew for a fact that he had scores of beautiful and eligible women throwing themselves at his finest leather handmade shoes? She had had to accept it, even if it did still hurt like a knife stabbing her in the gut.
It wasn’t as if she had actually been seeing anyone—not seriously. There had been dates—nice young men who’d wanted to take things further, with earnest declarations of love, even, but none of them had come close to affecting her. She simply couldn’t relate to them. Not after a real man. Not after Rafael. She was quite resigned to the fact that he had been the one and only man for her. She had always known it.
It was what had made leaving him the hardest thing she had ever done in her life.
But she had had to find the strength to walk away. Their future together had died along with Seraphina—despite or maybe because of Rafael’s obsession with getting her pregnant again. It had been as if a baby would be the only thing to validate their marriage, that without a child he would have to face up to the reality of the situation. That he should never have married her. That she was a mistake.
Her bed was positioned opposite the window, with views over the lake and the mountains beyond. Lottie had left the shutters open, and now she slipped out of bed and padded over to the window to look out. She could just make out a dark figure locking the iron gates down by the water, then moving purposefully up the terrace pathway towards the villa.
Retreating into the shadows of the room, Lottie watched as Rafael’s imposing shape came closer until he stopped abruptly and looked up at her window. Gripping the window frame, Lottie stared back at him. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then with a curt nod of his head he started walking again, until the villa hid him from view.
CHAPTER FIVE
FOR A SECOND when Lottie opened her eyes the next morning she couldn’t remember where she was. Light was streaming into the room, and the picture-perfect view of the mountains and sky was like a painting, hanging on the wall before her.
But mad reality soon flooded back, nudging aside the blissful ignorance of sleep and replacing it with a checklist of worries. The embryo transfer, being here at Villa Varenna, two whole weeks closeted with Rafael, not to mention his boorish behaviour last night... They had almost come to blows within hours of being here, for heaven’s sake. That hardly boded well for the rest of their stay.
Slipping out of bed, she went into the bathroom, stopping as she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Her long blonde hair fell about her shoulders in sleep-ruffled chaos and her eyes, still drowsy with sleep, squinted back at her. Stepping back, she surveyed herself from the side, smoothing down the fabric of her nightie over her very flat stomach.
What was going on in there? Could she be pregnant? Was it really possible?
The realisation of how much she wanted this baby was shocking, dizzying. An outsider might have assumed she was doing this for Rafael—her final gift to him, a last attempt to atone for the brutal way she had walked out on him. Why else would she consider condemning herself to a loveless marriage solely for the sake of bearing him a child? But the outsider would be wrong. She wanted this baby—wanted it with every fibre of her being. Not to help Rafael out of his predicament, not out of guilt or selflessness, and certainly not because she cared about providing an heir for Monterrato. She wanted this baby for herself. It was her chance of motherhood. To be the mother she had always wanted to be.
Uttering a few silent words of encouragement to her tummy, she stepped into the shower and let the powerful jets of water pummel all thoughts from her head.
* * *
‘Buongiorno.’ Rafael looked up from his laptop as Lottie entered the kitchen, registering the cloud of freshly washed curls, the floral scent of shower gel. She was wearing a flimsy cotton dressing gown belted so tightly around her waist it was in danger of cutting her in two. ‘Your things have arrived. I’d have brought them up, but I thought maybe you needed a lie-in.’
‘How considerate.’ She winced at her own acerbity. Today was supposed to be a new day, with the bitterness of yesterday put behind her.
‘I hope you slept well?’ Ignoring her ill temper, he pulled out a stool for her. He was wearing a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up above the elbow to reveal muscular olive-skinned forearms, liberally dusted with dark hair.
‘Yes—fine, thank you.’
‘Are you hungry?’ He gestured to the plate of pastries beside him.
‘Umm...’
He slid the plate towards her and watched as she seated herself next to him, carefully arranging the dressing gown to cover her legs.
‘They do look nice.’
‘Cornetti, fresh from the panificio. I took the boat out early this morning.’
Slicing open one of the pastries, she spread it thickly with butter and took a bite.
‘So, how are you feeling?’ Closing his laptop, Rafael turned to give her his full attention, distracted by the grease-slicked swell of her pink lips as she chewed hungrily.
‘If you mean by that do I feel pregnant, then, no—I feel just the same as yesterday.’ She concentrated on her eating.
‘Actually, I meant has your mood improved?’ Every now and then he could glimpse the tip of her tongue, disappearing into the dark moistness of her mouth. ‘But I guess you have answered that.’
‘My mood is perfectly all right, thank you.’ Wiping her fingers on a piece of paper towel, she tipped her chin to look at him.
‘Good...good.’
He leant forward, watching her eyes widen as he did so, and removed a flake of pastry stuck to her lower lip, then sucked it off his finger. The intimacy of the gesture shocked him. What did he think he was doing? Lottie looked equally startled, immediately pulling back.
‘You don’t have to be like this, you know,’ she said. Holding the collar of her dressing gown, she pulled it more tightly across her chest.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know... Like, well...falsely polite.’
‘Meaning...?’ He stared at her.
‘What I’m saying is, don’t feel that you have to pussyfoot around me for the whole two weeks. It wouldn’t feel right—and anyway the strain will kill you.’
‘Pussyfoot?’ He watched the blush spread across her cheeks as she looked down, moving pastry crumbs around on the plate with her finger. The word seemed to have taken on a far more carnal meaning. ‘I had no idea that was what I was doing.’
‘I just mean that we need to try and be normal.’ She turned to look at him again, still fighting to control the colour of her skin. ‘We both know the situation; it’s not as if we need to pretend to each other. Playing the part of dutiful husband is not going to make me any more pregnant and it would just feel like a sham.’
‘Well, thank you for pointing that out.’
As her sharp words hit home Rafael narrowed his eyes at her. It was obvious what she was doing: setting the ground rules, constructing a safety barrier between them to keep his unwanted attentions away. Just the idea that she thought she had to do that curdled his stomach.
‘Fine.’ His voice was harsh, cutting. ‘I agree that we don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. Like we might enjoy each other’s company, or anything like that.’
Now it was Lottie’s turn to feel the chill. Why was she being made to feel bad for pointing out the truth? The hostility he had shown her when she had first arrived back at the palazzo had demonstrated clearly enough what he thought of her.
‘I think it’s important that we are honest with each other, that’s all. I know what Dr Oveisi said, and everything, but that doesn’t mean we should be trying to fool each other.’
‘Whatever you say.’ Bored with the subject, Rafael stood up, fixing Lottie with a steely stare. ‘Have you f
inished your breakfast?’
Well, that awkward conversation was obviously over. ‘Yes, thank you. I’ll go and get dressed now.’
‘Wait.’ He watched an immediate flicker of wariness cross her blue eyes. ‘I have something to show you first.’
‘You do? What’s that?’
‘Come with me and you will find out.’
There was a beat of hesitation before Lottie slipped down from the stool, a flash of leg emerging from the unflattering dressing gown.
‘I hope you will accept one thing I have planned as a result of Dr Oveisi’s advice without feeling the need to argue about it.’
Lottie followed him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, her heart thumping more wildly with every step. What exactly had he planned? Despite telling herself not to be stupid, only one piece of Dr Oveisi’s advice clanged loudly in her head. Full marital relations. They appeared to be heading for a bedroom. She could feel her traitorous body already bounding ahead of her brain. Surely there was no way he could be thinking...? Could he?
Crossing the landing, Rafael flung open a door and gestured to her to go in before him. Cautiously, Lottie entered.
‘What do you think?’
Beside her now, he watched her survey the contents of the room. An artist’s easel had been set up in the middle, and a large number of stretched canvases of various sizes were propped against the wall. A palette, a pot of brushes, and a dizzying array of tubes of paint were laid out on a table next to the easel.
‘I thought this room might be the best—with the light, I mean. It faces north.’
Lottie stared at it.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No—no, of course not.’
‘What, then?’
Desperately trying to compose her features in order to banish any sign of disappointment, Lottie paced around the room. ‘It’s just that it’s a bit over the top.’ She attempted a small laugh as she gesticulated around her. ‘I mean, we are only here for a fortnight—even Van Gogh couldn’t paint this many canvases in two weeks!’
