Back in bed, dry and cosy, snuggled into his side, she drifted towards sleep. She was teetering on the edge of that sweet abyss when his fingers tilted up her chin. She kept her eyes closed, muttered a protest.
‘Promise me something, cara.’
She frowned. They were doing this again? ‘No regrets...’ she mumbled, and tried to drop her head back onto his chest.
His grip firmed. ‘A different promise.’
Sighing, she fluttered open her eyelids. ‘Hmm...?’
‘Promise me you’ll never let your father—never let anyone—tell you you’re worthless.’
She hesitated, her throat growing painfully tight. ‘I promise,’ she whispered, and damn if that warm glow from earlier hadn’t flared back to life.
* * *
Leo emerged from the tendrils of a deep, dreamless sleep and sensed he was being watched. He opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the pale morning light slanting through the gaps in the blinds. Helena lay half atop him, her naked body warm and soft, her chin propped on the slim hand splayed over his chest.
His groin stirred.
‘Morning, cara.’
Her smile held a hint of mischief, as if she knew how easily she aroused him and revelled in the knowledge.
‘Morning.’ She ran the tip of one finger down his jaw, her nail scraping through a thick layer of bristly stubble. ‘Are you properly awake?’
He moved slightly, his erection nudging her hip. ‘One hundred per cent.’
A pretty blush stole over her cheeks.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
He crooked an eyebrow. An early morning Q&A session was not quite what he’d had in mind. ‘Si,’ he said, gliding his hand over her satiny shoulder, down the back of her ribs to the dip of her waist and lower.
‘Leo.’ She smacked the fingers that had grabbed a handful of soft, delectable buttock. ‘I’m serious.’
Reluctantly, he moved his hand to her waist. Helena chewed her lip, her expression growing pensive, and a sudden stab of instinct warned that he wouldn’t like her question.
‘Why do you need to do it?’ Her voice was soft, curious rather than accusatory. ‘Why do you need to ruin my father after all these years?’
The heat of arousal in his veins instantly cooled. It was a candid question, one he had failed completely to anticipate, and had she asked it twenty-four hours earlier he’d have refused to be drawn.
But that had been yesterday. Before she had opened up to him. Before she’d answered a few equally tough questions with the kind of honesty his conscience was telling him he owed her in return.
Hell.
He expelled the air from his lungs. Gently he shifted her from him and climbed out of bed. ‘Wait here.’
He scooped his briefs off the floor and pulled them on. Then he pushed a button on the wall to raise the blinds, padded down the hall to his study and riffled through a drawer till he found what he wanted.
When he returned Helena was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the top sheet tucked around her middle. The morning sun fell across her bare shoulders and created a halo of rich amber in her tousled hair.
Her gaze went to the items in his hand. ‘Photos?’
She took the two six-by-four snapshots he held out and studied the top one, an old shot of a tall, leggy girl messing around on rollerblades.
‘Your sister?’ She glanced up for affirmation, then down again. ‘Taken before her accident, obviously. She’s absolutely stunning.’ She studied the other photo, this one more recent. Her brow furrowed. When she looked up, her eyes were solemn. ‘Still beautiful.’
‘Si. Still beautiful.’
A familiar weight dragged at his insides. Even seated in a wheelchair, the lower half of her body visibly frail, Marietta Vincenti was a striking young woman. Nevertheless, the contrast between the photos was sobering.
Leo sat on the bed. ‘Do you remember the Hetterichs from that charity dinner in London?’
‘Of course.’
‘Sabine mentioned Marietta and you asked me about her afterwards.’ And he’d shut her down—hadn’t wanted to discuss it.
‘I remember.’
‘For the last decade Hans has led the field in experimental stem cell surgery for spinal cord injuries and patients with varying degrees of paralysis.’
‘Oh... I’ve read about that.’ She sat forward, eyes bright with interest. ‘It’s a bit controversial, isn’t it?’
‘It’s very controversial.’ For a time he’d waged his own internal war over the ethics of it, but watching a loved one suffer did wonders for liberalising one’s attitudes. ‘After Marietta’s accident I took an interest in Hans’s work. I followed the early trials and eventually I contacted him. After reviewing Marietta’s case he believed she’d be a good candidate for surgery.’
Helena frowned again. ‘It wasn’t successful?’
He took the photos and placed them on the nightstand. ‘There is a window of time following the initial trauma during which the procedure has a greater chance of success. Marietta was already on the outer cusp of that time period.’
‘So...it was too late?’
‘Si. In the end.’
‘In the end?’
‘The surgery was delayed—by a year.’
Confusion clouded Helena’s face. ‘But...why?’
The old tightness invaded Leo’s chest. Talking about this wasn’t easy. The anger, the guilt, the gut-wrenching disappointment and the dark emotions he’d wrestled with had nearly destroyed him, and he had no desire to bring them to the fore again. Yet for some reason he couldn’t define he felt it was important to make Helena understand.
‘The surgery was only available privately, and it was expensive—beyond the means of most ordinary people. I had taken some aggressive risks to grow my business, tying up most of my assets and capital, but I had investors in the wings who were interested in a project with enormous potential. I knew if I could secure those investors I would be able to free up some of my own funds for the surgery.’
A stillness crept over Helena. ‘How long ago was that?’
‘Seven years.’
Her comprehension was instantaneous, the paling of her features swift. She placed her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. When she opened them her lashes glistened with something he hadn’t expected—tears.
‘It was the project my father derailed?’
He nodded, his chest growing tighter. One by one his potential investors had backed off, suddenly claiming his project was too high-risk, too pie-in-the-sky for a young entrepreneur whose start-up was a tiny David in an industry full of Goliaths. When cornered and pressed, two of those men had let slip the name of Douglas Shaw. Somehow the man had used his power, his influence and connections, to identify Leo’s investors and scatter them to the winds.
‘Eventually I resurrected that project, but my business had taken a serious hit, and it was many months before I could reverse the damage—over a year before it was stable enough financially for me to reconsider the surgery.’
For that he’d wanted to hunt Shaw down and rip his head clean off. Instead he’d bided his time. Nursed his anger. Planned every detail of his retribution.
‘Hans warned us that the chance of success was severely diminished, but I encouraged Marietta to have the procedure anyway.’
‘And it was a failure?’
‘She has some increased sensation and movement in her leg muscles, but nothing more significant. Barring a miracle, she will never walk again.’
Helena swiped a hand across damp cheeks. ‘I... I had no idea,’ she croaked. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
He swore under his breath. ‘Don’t,’ he said gruffly.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Apologise for something that’s not your fault.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘But it is my fault, isn’t it? I knew my father wouldn’t approve of our relationship and I took the risk anyway. And in the end you paid the price for my stupidi
ty. You...and Marietta.’ She grimaced. ‘No wonder you hate me.’
Leo rubbed a hand over his jaw. Of all the disturbing emotions that had churned through him these last forty-eight hours, hate had not been among them. ‘I do not hate you, Helena.’
She gave him a look. ‘You don’t have to humour me. I know you think I walked away from you fully aware of what my father intended.’
An accusation he couldn’t refute. Not with any degree of honesty. Seven years ago he had judged and condemned her, too blinded by ego to consider that her role in Shaw’s machinations might have been as victim, not conspirator.
He tipped her chin up. ‘Where you are concerned, tesoro, I am fast learning that what I think I know is more often than not incorrect.’
He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. When he pulled back he noted the pulse beating at the base of her throat, the flush of colour down her neck and chest—sure signs he wasn’t the only one so easily aroused. His body stirred again, his blood heating. Pooling. He trailed a fingertip over her collarbone down to the sheet covering her breasts.
Enough talking.
‘We have one hour before I leave for work and your guide is due.’
She jerked back, frowning. ‘My guide?’
‘Si.’ He curled his fingers into the sheet and yanked it down, exposing her lush breasts to his unabashed scrutiny. ‘The guide who is taking you sightseeing today.’
Her mouth opened, no doubt to voice a protest, but Leo was already moving. With easy strength he tumbled her beneath him, pinned her to the mattress and smothered her squeal of outrage with a hard, ravenous kiss.
* * *
Six hours later, sitting on the Spanish Steps awaiting the return of the five-foot-two bundle of feminine energy that was her tour guide, Helena admitted that she’d have to eat every ungracious word of protest she had mumbled that morning.
She’d had fun—an absolute blast, in fact—and her guide, Pia, had been a delight: smart, funny, full of knowledge and, thanks to her local connections, able to leap even the longest tourist queue in a single bound.
In just a few hours Helena had counted the great marble columns of the Pantheon, shivered in the dungeons of the Colosseum, stood next to the towering four-thousand-year-old Egyptian obelisk in St Peter’s Square, gazed in awe at Michelangelo’s famous frescoes on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling, and performed the traditional right-handed coin-toss over her left shoulder into the beautiful Trevi Fountain.
Phew!
Now she basked in the sunshine of yet another glorious Roman afternoon, watching crowds of people mill about the Piazza di Spagna while she waited for Pia, who’d vanished on a one-woman mission for fresh lemon gelato.
She pushed her sunglasses up on her nose and smiled at the antics of two young boys playing at the foot of the centuries-old steps. Both had dark hair and olive skin and didn’t look dissimilar to how she imagined her son would have looked as an energetic boy of five or six.
Just like that her meandering thoughts caught her like a sucker punch, and she hugged her knees into her chest.
It had been impossible to sleep with Leo these last two nights and not think at least once about the life they’d inadvertently conceived. About the child she’d carried in her womb with such deep maternal love and the tiny grave where every year, on a frigid February morning, she would kneel on the cold, damp ground and mourn the loss of their son.
But she wasn’t ready to tell Leo about Lucas. To inflict pain where so much hurt had gone before. Not when this truce between them was so new. So fragile.
Their revelations—hers yesterday and Leo’s this morning—had caused a subtle shift in their understanding of each other. A sense of growing mutual respect. She couldn’t bear it if they slipped backwards. Not now. Not when she had a tiny bubble of hope inside her. A blossoming belief that maybe—just maybe—once the dust had settled from the takeover, they could have something more. Something real.
‘Helena!’
Pia called out from the foot of the steps and Helena rose, shelving her thoughts. This was not the time to sit and ruminate. Leo had no doubt paid good money for Pia’s services. The best way Helena could show her gratitude was to enjoy the day.
Aware that eating on the steps was forbidden, she descended to the bottom. A minute later, around a mouthful of cold, creamy gelato, she said, ‘Oh, Pia, this is divine!’ And then muttered, ‘Darn it...’ when a muffled ringtone came from her bag.
‘Here—let me.’ Her ebullient, ever-present smile in place, Pia relieved Helena of her cone so she could rummage for her mobile.
She checked the display and frowned. ‘Mum?’
But it wasn’t her mother on the line; it was her mother’s housekeeper. And as the woman started to speak, her words rushed, the line scratchy in places, a chill that bore no relation to the cold gelato she’d eaten slid down Helena’s spine.
She gripped the phone and stared at Pia, thinking dimly that the look on her face must be quite a sight. Because suddenly Pia’s smile was gone.
* * *
Leo slouched in his office chair, threw his pen across his desk and scowled at the strategy paper he’d been attempting to red-pen for the last ninety minutes.
Buono dio! Had he ever had a day at the office this unproductive? And since when had a weekend of sex so completely annihilated his ability to focus?
He rolled his shoulders, twisted his head and felt a small pop of release in his neck.
Better. Marginally.
He blew out a heavy breath. Blaming his lack of concentration on the sex—no matter how spectacular—was a cop-out. It was the hot tangle of emotion in his gut that he couldn’t unravel that had him distracted and on edge. He glared again at the papers on his desk and conceded he’d have to open his laptop and start from scratch.
He rubbed his eyelids, not thrilled by the prospect. His board of directors was expecting a detailed plan for divesting ShawCorp’s assets. Instead he was drafting a recommendation for keeping the company intact—at least in the short term.
No doubt they’d all think he’d lost his mind.
Chances were they’d be right.
Aware of a dull ache taking root in his temples, he hit the button labelled ‘Gina’ on his phone and waited impatiently for his PA to pick up.
When she burst into his office moments later, a stricken-faced Helena hot on her heels, a jolt of surprise drove him to his feet. He strode around his desk, the pain in his head forgotten.
‘Cara?’
She walked into his arms, her body trembling, her eyes enormous saucers of blue in a face as pale as porcelain.
‘I need to go home,’ she said, her grip on his arms verging on painful. ‘My mother’s had a fall. She’s in Intensive Care—in an induced coma.’
CHAPTER TEN
MIRIAM SHAW REMAINED in a medically induced coma for two days.
Though her recollection of the incident was hazy, it was apparent she’d suffered a severe knock to the head that caused a swelling on her brain. Her sprained wrist, the bruising along her left hip and thigh, the presence of alcohol in her blood and the location in which the housekeeper had found her all pointed to an unfortunate and—though Helena balked at the idea—drunken tumble down the stairs.
‘Helena?’
She jerked awake, lurched forward in her chair and reached on autopilot for the guardrail of the hospital bed. A second later her overtired mind registered the deep, rich timbre of the voice that had spoken.
She twisted round as Leo placed a plastic cup filled with black watery coffee on the small table beside her.
He grimaced. ‘The best I could find, I’m afraid.’
She settled back in her chair—one of several in her mother’s private room on the ward. ‘It’s fine. I’m used to it after four days.’ She managed a smile. ‘Thanks.’
He dropped into the seat beside her and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, his other hand loosening the tie at
his throat. He’d swapped his jeans for a designer suit today, having gone to a business meeting in London, but the look of unease he wore every time he came to the hospital remained.
She met his gaze and her breath caught, her belly tugging with a deep awareness of him that was inappropriate for the time and place. Incredible. Even dulled by worry and fatigue, her senses reeled from his impact.
‘Don’t say it,’ he said, his brows descending, his jaw, clean-shaven for the first time in three days, clenched in sudden warning.
‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ she lied, unnerved by his ability to read her. Somehow he’d known she was on the brink of telling him—for the hundredth time since they’d left Rome—that he didn’t need to be here. That he shouldn’t have come to London. That her mother’s welfare wasn’t his concern.
He felt responsible in some way. He hadn’t said so—not in so many words—but every time Helena looked at him she sensed a storm of dark emotions swirling beneath his veneer of control.
‘Has she been lucid today?’
She shifted her attention to her mother, restful in sleep and less fragile-looking now, without all the tubes and wires that had been attached to her in the ICU. She’d been brought out of her induced coma two nights ago. So far the doctors were pleased with her recovery.
‘We’ve had a few brief chats. And she talked with James before he returned to boarding school this afternoon.’
The chance to spend a few hours with her brother had been bittersweet, in the circumstances. By contrast, coming face to face with her father in a packed ICU waiting room had just been...bitter. She was surprised he’d bothered returning from Scotland. Thank God he’d turned up when Leo wasn’t there.
‘Have you seen your father again?’
Helena shook her head. She didn’t want to discuss her father with Leo. Not when she had the sneaking suspicion he was secretly hankering for an outright confrontation with the other man.
Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian Page 14
