His Innocent's Passionate Awakening

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Artie touched a hand to the ache in the middle of her chest. So, this was what rejection felt like. The humiliation of wanting someone who didn’t want you back.

  Why am I so unlucky in the lottery of life?

  * * *

  Luca wasn’t a drinker, but right then he wanted to down a bottle of Scotch and throw the empty bottle at the wall. He wanted to stride upstairs to Artie’s bedroom and take her in his arms and show her how much he wanted her. He wanted to breathe in the scent of her skin, taste the sweet nectar of her lips, glide his hands over her beautiful body and take them both to paradise. But the hard lessons learned from his father’s and brother’s death had made him super-cautious when it came to doing things that couldn’t be undone.

  Making love with Artie would change everything about their relationship. It would change the dynamic between them, pitching them into new territory, dangerous territory that clashed with his six-month time limit.

  He had thought himself a good judge of character, someone who didn’t miss important details. And yet he hadn’t picked up on Artie’s social phobia, but it all made perfect sense now. Why she hadn’t been at the hospital when he’d visited her father. Why she’d insisted on the wedding being held at the castello instead of at one of the local churches. Why she had such a guarded air about her, closed off almost, as if she was uncomfortable around people she didn’t know. He still couldn’t get his head around the fact that she had spent ten years living almost in isolation. Ten years! It was unthinkable to someone like him, who was rarely in the same city two nights in a row. He lived out of hotels rather than at his villa in Tuscany. He lived in the fast lane because slowing down made him think too much, ruminate too much, hurt too much.

  It was easier to block it out with work.

  Work was his panacea for all ills. He had built his father’s business into a behemoth of success. He had brokered deals all over the world and cashed in on every one of them. Big time. He had more money than he knew what to do with. It didn’t buy him happiness but it did buy him freedom. Freedom from the ties that bound others into dead-end jobs, going-nowhere relationships and the drudgery of duty-bound responsibilities.

  Luca walked over to the windows of his suite at the castello. The moon was full and cast the castello grounds in an ethereal light. The centuries-old trees, the gnarled vines, the rambling roses were testament to how many generations of Artie’s family had lived and loved here.

  Love. The trickiest of emotions. The one he avoided, because loving people and then letting them down was soul destroying. The stuff of nightmares, a living torture he could do without.

  Luca watched as a barn owl flew past the window on silent wings. Nature going about its business under the cloak of moonlight. The castello could be restored into a showcase of antiquity. The gardens tended to and nurtured back into their former glory, the ancient vines grafted and replanted to produce award-winning wine. It would cost money...lots of money—money Artie clearly didn’t have. But it would be his gift to her for the time she had given up to be married to him.

  Six months, and day one was just about over. A day when he had discovered his bride was an introverted social phobic who had never been kissed until his mouth touched hers. A young woman who had not socialised with her peers outside the walls of the castello. A young woman who was still a virgin at the age of twenty-five. A modern-day Sleeping Beauty who had yet to be woken to the pleasures of sex.

  Stop thinking about sex.

  But how could he when the taste of her mouth was still on his lips? The feel of her body pressed against him was branded on his flesh. The ache of desire still hot and tight and heavy in his groin.

  The castello was huge, and Artie’s bedroom was a long, wide corridor away from his, but his awareness of her had never been more heightened and his self-control never more tested. What was it about her that made him so tempted to throw his rules to one side? Her unworldly youth? Her innocence? Her sensual allure? It was all those things and more besides. Things he couldn’t quite name but he was aware of them all the same. He felt it in his body when he kissed her. A sense of rightness, as if every kiss he’d experienced before had been erased from his memory so that her mouth could be the new benchmark of what a kiss should be. He felt it when he touched her face and the creamy perfection of her skin made his fingers tingle in a way they had never done when touching anyone else. He felt it when he held her close to his body, the sense that her body was a perfect match for his.

  Luca turned away from the window with a sigh of frustration. He needed his laptop so he could immerse himself in work but he’d left it in the car. He knew there wouldn’t be too many bridegrooms tapping away on their laptops on their wedding night, but he was not a normal bridegroom.

  And he needed to keep reminding his body of that too.

  * * *

  When Artie came downstairs the following morning, Rosa was laying out breakfast in the morning room, but not with her usual energy and vigour. Her face was pale and there were lines of tiredness around her eyes.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Artie asked, going to her.

  Rosa put a hand to her forehead and winced. ‘I have the most dreadful headache.’

  ‘Then you must go straight back to bed. I’ll call the doctor and—’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. It’s just a headache. I’ve had them before.’

  Artie frowned at the housekeeper’s pallor and bloodshot eyes. ‘You don’t look at all well. I insist you go upstairs to bed. I’ll manage things down here. It’s about time you had some time to yourself. You’ve been going non-stop since Papa died. And well before that too.’ Artie didn’t like admitting how dependent she had become on the housekeeper but she wouldn’t have been able to cope without Rosa running errands for her.

  Rosa began to untie her apron, her expression etched with uncertainty. ‘Are you sure?’

  Artie took the apron from the housekeeper and tossed it to one side. ‘Upstairs. Now. I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. And if you’re not feeling better by then, I’m calling the doctor.’

  ‘Sì, sì, Signora Ferrantelli.’ Rosa mock-saluted Artie and then she left the room.

  Artie released a sigh and pulled out a chair to sit down at the breakfast table but her appetite had completely deserted her. What would she do without Rosa? The housekeeper was her link to the outside world. Her only true friend. If anything happened to Rosa she would be even more isolated.

  Stranded.

  But you have a husband now...

  The sound of firm footsteps approaching sent a tingle down Artie’s spine. She swivelled in her chair to see Luca enter the breakfast room. His hair was still damp from a shower, his face cleanly shaven, the sharp tang of his citrus-based aftershave teasing her nostrils. He was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt that lovingly hugged his muscular chest and ridged abdomen.

  ‘Good morning.’ Her tone was betrayingly breathless and her cheeks grew warm. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Morning.’ He pulled out the chair opposite, sat down and spread his napkin over his lap. ‘I ran into Rosa when I was coming down. She didn’t look well.’

  Artie picked up the jug of fresh orange juice and poured some into her glass. ‘I’ve sent her back to bed. She’s got a bad headache. She gets them occasionally.’ She offered him the juice but he shook his head and reached for the coffee pot. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

  Luca picked up his cup, glancing at her over the rim. ‘Has she got plans to retire? This is a big place to take care of. Does anyone come in to help her?’

  Artie chewed at the side of her mouth. ‘They used to but we had to cut back the staff a while back. I help her. I enjoy it, actually. It’s a way of thanking her for helping me all these years.’

  ‘And how does she help you?’ His gaze was unwavering, almost interrogating in its intensity.

&nbs
p; Artie lowered her gaze and stared at the beads of condensation on her glass of orange juice. ‘Rosa runs errands for me. She picks up shopping for me, the stuff I can’t get online, I mean. She’s been with my family for a long time. This is her home. Here, with me.’

  Luca put down his cup with a clatter on the saucer. ‘She can’t stay here for ever, Artie. And neither can you.’ His tone was gentle but firm, speaking a truth she recognised but didn’t want to face.

  She pushed back her chair and tossed her napkin on the table. ‘Will you excuse me? I want to check on Rosa.’

  ‘Sit down, cara.’ There was a thread of steel underlining each word. The same steel glinting in his eyes and in the uncompromising line of his jaw.

  Artie toyed with the idea of defying him, a secret thrill shooting through her at the thought of what he might do to stop her flouncing out of the room. Grasp her by the wrists? Hold her to his tempting body? Bring that firm mouth down on hers in another toe-curlingly passionate kiss? She held his gaze for a heart-stopping moment, her pulse picking up its pace, the backs of her knees fizzing. But then she sat heavily in the chair, whipped her napkin across her lap and threw him a look so sour it could have curdled the milk in the jug. ‘I hope you’re not going to make a habit of ordering me about like I’m some sort of submissive slave.’

  His eyes continued to hold hers in a battle of wills. ‘I want to talk to you about your relationship with Rosa. I get that she’s been supportive for a long time and you see her as a friend you can rely on, but what if she’s actually holding you back from developing more autonomy?’

  Artie curled her lip. ‘I didn’t know you had a psychology degree amongst your other impressive achievements.’

  ‘I don’t need a psychology degree to see what’s happening here.’ He picked up a teaspoon and stirred his coffee even though he didn’t take sugar or milk. He put the teaspoon down again and continued. ‘I know it’s hard for you but—’

  ‘How do you know anything of what it’s like for me?’ She banged her hand on the table, rattling the cups and saucers. ‘You’re not me. You don’t live in my mind, in my body. I’m the only one who knows what this is like for me.’ Her chest was tightening, her breathing becoming laboured, her skin breaking out in a sweat. She could feel the pressure building. The fear climbing up her spine. The dread roiling in her stomach. The hammering of her heart. The panic spreading, growing, expanding, threatening to explode inside her head.

  Luca rose from his seat and came around to her side of the table and crouched down beside her chair. He took one of her hands in his, enclosing it within the warm shelter of his. ‘Breathe, cara. Take a slow, deep breath and let it out on the count of three. One. Two. Three. And again. That’s it. Nice and slow.’

  Artie concentrated on her breathing, holding tightly to the solid anchor of his hand, drawing comfort from his deep and calming tone. The panic gradually subsided, retreating like a wild beast that had been temporarily subdued by a much bigger, stronger opponent. After a long moment, she let out a rattling sigh. ‘I’m okay now... I think...’ She tried to remove her hand but he kept a firm but gentle hold on her, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb in slow, soothing strokes that made every overwrought cell in her body quieten.

  ‘Take your time, mia piccola.’

  Artie chanced a glance at his concerned gaze. ‘I suppose you think I’m crazy. A mad person who can’t walk out of her own front gate.’

  Luca placed his other hand beneath her chin and locked her gaze on his. His eyes were darkened by his wide pupils, the green and brown flecks in his irises reminding her of a nature-themed mosaic. ‘I don’t think any such thing.’ He gave a rueful twist of his mouth and continued. ‘When my father and brother drowned, I didn’t leave the house for a month after their funeral.’ A shadow passed across his face like scudding grey clouds. ‘I couldn’t face the real world without them in it. It was a terrible time.’ His tone was weighted with gravitas, his expression drawn in lines of deep sadness.

  Artie squeezed his hand. ‘It must have been so tragic for you and your mother. How did you survive such awful loss?’

  One side of his mouth came up in a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. ‘There are different types of survival, sì? I chose to concentrate on forging my way through the morass of grief by studying hard, acing my exams and taking over my father’s company. I taught myself not to think about my father and brother. Nothing could bring them back, but I figured I could make my father proud by taking up the reins of his business even though it was never my aspiration to do so. That was my brother’s dream.’ His half-smile faded and the shadow was back in his gaze.

  Artie ached for what he had been through, knowing first-hand how such tragic loss impacted on a person. The way it hit you at odd moments like a sudden stab, doubling you over with unbearable pain. The ongoing reminders—birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, Mother’s Day. So many days of the year when it was impossible to forget. And then there was the guilt that never went away. It hovered over her every single day of her life. ‘How did your mother cope with her grief?’

  Luca released her hand and straightened to his full height. Artie could sense him withdrawing into himself as if the mention of his mother pained him more than he wanted to admit. ‘Enough miserable talk for now. Finish your breakfast, cara. And after that, we will call my grandfather and I’ll introduce you to him.’

  Her stomach fluttered with nerves. ‘What if he doesn’t accept me? What if he doesn’t like me or think I’m suitable?’

  Luca stroked his hand over the top of her head, his expression inscrutable. ‘Don’t worry. He will adore you the minute he meets you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LUCA CALLED HIS GRANDFATHER on his phone a short time later and selected the video-call option. He sat with Artie on the sofa in the salon and draped an arm around her waist to keep her in the range of the camera. The fragrance of her perfume wafted around his nostrils, her curly hair tickling his jaw when she leaned closer. His grandfather’s image came up on the screen and Luca felt Artie tense beside him. He gave her a gentle squeeze and smiled at her before turning back to face his grandfather.

  ‘Nonno, allow me to introduce you to my beautiful wife Artemisia—Artie for short. We were married yesterday.’

  The old man frowned. ‘Your wife? Pah! You think I’m a doddering old fool or something? You said you were never getting married and now you present me with a wife? Why didn’t you bring her here to meet me in person?’

  ‘We’re on our honeymoon, Nonno,’ Luca said, wishing, not for the first time, it was true. ‘But soon, sì?’

  ‘Buongiorno, Signor Ferrantelli,’ Artie said. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been ill. It must be so frustrating for you.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s frustrating—having my only grandson gadding about all these years as a freedom-loving playboy, when all I want is to see a great-grandchild before I leave this world. It’s his duty, his responsibility to carry on the proud family name by producing a new generation.’

  Luca gave a light laugh. ‘We’ve only just got married, Nonno. Give us time.’ He suddenly realised he didn’t want to share Artie with anyone. He wanted to spend time alone with her, getting to know her better. He wanted her with an ache that wouldn’t go away. Ever since he’d kissed her it had smouldered like hot coals inside him. The need to explore her body, to awaken her to the explosive pleasure he knew they would experience together. But he refused to even think about the cosy domestic future his grandfather hoped for him. Babies? A new generation of Ferrantellis? Not going to happen.

  ‘You’ve wasted so much time already,’ Nonno said, scowling. ‘Your father was married to your mother and had Angelo and you well before your age.’

  ‘Sì, I know.’ Luca tried to ignore the dart of pain in his chest at the mention of his father and brother. And his mother, of course. He could barely think of his mother w
ithout feeling a tsunami of guilt for how his actions had destroyed her life. Grandchildren might soften the blow for his mother, but how could he allow himself to think about providing them? Family life was something he had never envisaged for himself. How could he when he had effectively destroyed his own family of origin?

  ‘Luca is everything I ever dreamed of in a husband,’ Artie piped up in a proud little voice that made something in his chest ping. ‘He’s definitely worth waiting for.’

  Nonno gave a grunt, his frown still in place. ‘Did you give her your grandmother’s engagement ring?’ he asked Luca.

  ‘Sì,’ Luca said.

  Artie lifted her hand to the camera. ‘I love it. It’s the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen. I feel incredibly honoured to be wearing it. I wish I could have met your wife. You must miss her terribly.’

  ‘Every day.’ Nonno shifted his mouth from side to side, his frown softening its grip on his weathered features. ‘Don’t leave it too long before you come and see me in person, Artie. I haven’t got all the time in the world.’

  ‘You’d have more time if you follow your doctor’s advice,’ Luca said.

  ‘I’d love to meet you,’ Artie said. ‘Luca’s told me so much about you.’

  ‘Yes, well, he’s told me virtually nothing about you,’ Nonno said, disapproval ripe in his tone. ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘I met Artie through her father,’ Luca said. ‘I knew she was the one for me as soon as I laid eyes on her.’ It wasn’t a lie. He had known straight up that Artie was the only young woman his grandfather would approve of as his bride.

  Nonno gave another grunt. ‘Let’s hope you can handle him, Artie. He’s a Ferrantelli. We are not easy to live with but if you love him it will certainly help.’