The Italian's Revenge

by Michelle Reid

  He stepped away from her so quickly she barely registered what was happening. And as her confused eyes focused on the wicked grin slashing his arrogant features she realised why he had stepped away as abruptly as he had.

  Or he would not have escaped without injury. Vito was well aware that his wife could be a little hell-cat when she wanted to be, and the grin he was offering her was one of triumph, because he knew he had just stage-managed his own very lucky escape.

  ‘Hold that thought,’ he commanded. And with one flashing, gleaming dip at the way she was standing there—looking utterly ravaged without the ravaging—he had the damn audacity to wink! ‘I will be back to collect the rest at the end of the week.’

  He was gone before she could answer. And as she stood there blinking bemusedly at the back of the door, unable to believe she had let him do this to her, the telephone kept on ringing with a ruthless persistence that was Marietta.

  Yet what did she find herself doing? She found herself standing there loving the sound of that ringing telephone, knowing that Marietta must be seething in frustration while she stubbornly hung on there, waiting for one of them to answer. And also knowing, by the length of time it took the ringing to stop, that Vito had needed to take time to compose himself before going to find Marietta.

  * * *

  It ended up being a strange week all told. A long week that made her feel a bit like a bride marking time before her big day—though she was truly annoyed with herself for feeling like that.

  The man leaves one decidedly provocative taunt hanging in the air and you respond to it like this, she scolded herself crossly. But it didn’t stop her from feeling pumped up with a waiting expectancy which had her almost floating hazily through the ensuing days until Vito’s return.

  The man was her weakness, his body a temple at which she worshipped whether she liked it or not. Control was a no-word where he was concerned. It always had been. Weak of the mind, weak of the flesh and weak of the spirit was what she was.

  So she tried very hard to combat all of that by throwing herself into a whirl of activity that didn’t seem to achieve anything. She had lunch each day with old acquaintances, put out feelers about a job, then found herself in no rush to take one—though she didn’t understand it, since she had thought a job was her number one priority if she was going to make her life bearable here.

  Another thing she learned was that Luisa was no part-time grandmother. She adored Santo. In fact she loved nothing better than to have her grandson with her all day and every day. She did things with him, took him places with her, was always interested in everything he had to say. And Santo blossomed under her loving attention. Not that he hadn’t been happy with just Catherine back in London, because he had been—very happy. It was just that watching from the sidelines how Luisa treated Santo made Catherine realise why Vito was the man he was. Luisa seemed to instinctively instill confidence and self-belief into Santo, and she would have done the same for her own son.

  A son who rang home every evening religiously. Spoke to his mother, spoke to his son—and spoke to Catherine.

  Neither of them mentioned Marietta during those telephone calls. Catherine wouldn’t in case the wretched woman was there in the room with him and would therefore know that her existence worried Catherine. And Vito didn’t mention her because, Catherine presumed, Marietta was right there with him and he didn’t want Catherine to know.

  Oh, the evils involved in feeling no trust, she mused grimly one afternoon while she was standing beneath the shower attempting to cool herself, because Naples had been hit by the kind of heatwave that even the air-conditioning system was struggling to cope with.

  But it wasn’t just the heatwave that had forced her into taking her second shower of the day. The real culprit for that was Vito. He had left her hungry, and hungry she had stayed. So much so that even standing here like this, with a cold jet of water pouring all over her, she couldn’t stop her body from responding to the knowledge that he was coming home today. Her breasts were tingling, their sensitive tips tightly peaked, and a permanent throb had taken up residence deep down in her abdomen. And if she kept her eyes closed she could even imagine him stripping off his clothes to come and join her here.

  So when a naked, very male body slid in behind her she thought for a moment that she was fantasising his presence.

  ‘Vito!’ she gasped, almost slipping on the wet tiles in shocked consternation. His arms wound around her, to hold her steady. ‘You frightened the life out of me!’ she protested.

  ‘My apologies,’ he murmured. ‘But hearing you in here was an irresistible temptation.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t due back until this evening,’ she said, trying desperately to steady her racing heartbeat.

  ‘I caught an earlier flight.’ He was already bending his dark head so that he could press his open mouth to the side of her throat. ‘Mmm, you taste delicious.’

  And you feel delicious, Catherine silently countered.

  ‘The water is a bit cold, though,’ he complained, reaching over her shoulder to alter the temperature gauge slightly. ‘What are you trying to do—freeze yourself?’

  ‘It’s so hot,’ she murmured in idiot-like explanation. But the blush that suffused her skin told its own wretched story.

  He knew it too. ‘Ah,’ he drawled. ‘Missed me, hmm?’

  ‘I have hardly given you a second thought,’ she lied.

  ‘Well, I missed you,’ he murmured as he turned her round to face him. ‘And please do note that I am not too proud to admit it.’

  ‘Only because you want something,’ she mocked.

  But he just laughed softly, then proceeded to show her exactly what he wanted. And as she wound her long legs around his body, while Vito loved her into ecstasy, she let herself smile. Because a man couldn’t be this hungry if he had spent the whole week doing this with someone else, could he?

  Because even though it was her mouth that was gasping out its little sounds of pleasure, she wasn’t so mindless with sensation that she wasn’t aware that Vito was trembling, that despite the rhythmic power of his thrusts he was struggling to hang onto control here.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she groaned, as if in agony. ‘I need you to kiss me!’

  On a growl, he did so, felt her begin to quicken as his mouth fused with her mouth and sent her spinning into orgasm, and almost instantly joined her, their mutual gasps mingling with the sound of the shower spray.

  Afterwards he carried her out of the shower before letting her stand on her own shaky legs again. She leaned weakly against him while he set about drying her, her mouth laying lazy kisses across his hair-roughened chest while her arms rested limply against his lean hipline.

  They didn’t speak. It didn’t seem necessary—or maybe they were both too aware that words tended to ruin everything. So when he made her stand up properly, so he could dry her front, Catherine stood staring wistfully up at his beautiful face and wished she could dare love him again.

  Wished it with all she had in her to wish.

  ‘Keep looking at me like that...’ his smile was rueful ‘...and you will be spending the rest of the day in the bedroom.’

  ‘Santo is spending the day with his friend Paolo,’ she murmured.

  A sleek eyebrow arched. ‘Is that your way of telling me that you don’t mind spending the day in the bedroom with me?’ he asked.

  ‘Got any better ideas?’ she softly queried.

  * * *

  It was Luisa who asked about Marietta over dinner that night.

  ‘She remained in Paris,’ Vito replied. ‘But she will be back in time for your birthday party next week.’

  No Marietta for another whole week. Catherine’s mood suddenly felt positively buoyant. And remained like that throughout the next few days as their life returned to the same routine it had developed before Vito had taken Marietta to Paris. He spent his mornings in his study and his afternoons with his wife and son while his mother became deeply involved
in the preparations for her party at the weekend.

  In fact, life could almost be described as happy. They swam in the pool and took drives into the mountains in an attempt to escape the oppressive heat. And Vito took Santo and a small group of his friends out for the day so that Catherine could help Luisa. Then a job cropped up that Catherine quite fancied, because it involved working freelance from home, translating manuscripts for a publishing company.

  ‘I must be getting lazy,’ she confessed to Vito that evening as they lay stretched out on the bed together.

  ‘It could not be, I suppose, that you are merely contented?’ he suggested.

  Is that why I’ve been working so hard through the last few years? she asked herself. Because I was so discontented with my life?

  It could be, she had to admit, because she certainly hadn’t felt this relaxed with herself in a very long time.

  ‘Well, I am going to have to commandeer the library to use as my workplace,’ she warned him. ‘It’s either there or your study, and I don’t think you would like it if I moved in there with you.’

  ‘We would neither of us get much work done,’ he agreed. Then, ‘Mmm,’ he groaned. ‘You are very good at this.’

  He was lying stretched out on his stomach and Catherine was running her nails down the muscle-cushioned tautness of gold satin skin covering his long back while he enjoyed the sensation with all the self-indulgence of a true hedonist.

  ‘I know,’ she replied with a bland conceit. ‘I’ve had loads of practice, you see.’

  She’d meant with him, because once upon a time they’d used to lie for ages just doing this. But from the way his muscles tensed Catherine knew he had misunderstood her.

  ‘How much practice?’ he demanded.

  Sighing, she sat up and away from him.

  He moved too, rolling onto his back to glare up at her. ‘How many lovers have there been, Catherine?’ He insisted on an answer.

  ‘You know there was no one before you,’ she reminded him. ‘So why start asking questions like that now, all of these years later?’

  ‘I meant since we married.’

  Turning her head, she looked down at this man who was lying beside her in all his naked arrogance, with the power of his virility on blatant display, and wished she knew what made his mind tick as well as she knew his body.

  ‘How many for you?’ she counter-challenged.

  ‘None,’ he answered unhesitatingly.

  ‘Same here,’ she replied, and knew they both thought the other was lying. ‘Does it matter?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ He grimaced, and she knew that was a lie also.

  Her hand reached out to lightly stroke him. Releasing a small sigh, he closed his eyes. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I can take a hint. You can ravish me.’

  Coming on top of him, Catherine eased him inside her then sighed herself. ‘Talking never did us any favours, Vito,’ she murmured sombrely. ‘Let’s make a pact not to do it more than is absolutely necessary.’

  Then, before he could answer, she closed her own eyes and began to move over him. And she rode him with a muscular co-ordination that soon sent any arguments he might have been about to voice fleeing in favour of more pleasurable pursuits.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE house was on show tonight, lit by strategically placed halogens that turned its white walls a seductive gold, and its many garden features were subtly lit from within the shrubbery that lined its many pathways. Inside, everything had been cleaned or swept or dusted or polished, and in the large formal dining room attached to the ballroom a buffet banquet fit for kings had been laid.

  Which left only the house occupants to dress themselves up in the kind of clothes that would complement the house. Catherine had achieved this by deciding to wear a striking long red silk gown with a strapless and boned basque-style bodice that was as bold as it was stunning with her colouring. She had dressed her hair into an elegant twist held in place by a diamond clasp that allowed a few stray tendrils to curl around her nape and around the diamond earrings she had dangling from her earlobes. And on her feet she wore very high, very strappy, shiny red shoes that forced her to move in a way that set men’s pulses racing.

  It certainly set Vito’s pulses racing as he watched her come gliding down the stairs towards him. He had just returned from delivering Santo into the care of Paolo’s mamma, where he was to enjoy his first sleep-over.

  Which did not mean he had missed out on the fun. Luisa had been all for thoroughly enjoying her whole day, so when Santo decided that she should have a special birthday tea party with him and his friends, his nonna had been more than willing to play along. So it had been a balloons and red jelly party, with a novelty cake and the kind of games children believed a prerequisite for birthdays.

  It had been fun. Probably would turn out to have been more fun than the grown up party that was about to follow, Catherine mused wryly as she watched Vito watch her come towards him. And the dark gleam in his eyes was telling her everything she wanted to know. Pride and appreciation were the words that came to mind, underpinned by the ever-present sexual vibrations that were such an integral part of what they had always shared.

  ‘You look as if you have just stepped out of one of my father’s Pre-Raphaelites,’ he murmured deeply as she reached him, then frowned. ‘But something is missing...’

  ‘Jewellery,’ Catherine agreed, touching her bare throat. ‘You have most of it locked away in your safe, if you remember.’

  ‘Then lead the way to my study,’ he commanded, ‘and we will rectify the situation immediately.’

  Walking off in the direction of his study, she could feel the heat of his eyes as he followed behind her, and her ruby-painted mouth gave a rueful twitch because she was aware that he was now able to see how her gown dipped at the back in an audaciously deep V to her slender waistline.

  ‘Very provocative,’ he drawled.

  Casting him a flirtatious glance over her shoulder, she replied, ‘I like being provocative.’

  His answering laugh was low and husky as they entered his study. And he was still smiling when he turned back to her after extracting something from the safe. Expecting him to come towards her with her old jewellery box in his hands, she was surprised, therefore, when he held only a flat black velvet case. ‘Don’t I get to choose?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘And that dress is most definitely an outright provocation,’ he added, again eyeing censoriously the amount of naked back she had on show. ‘Make sure I vet every man you dance with tonight.’

  Catherine mocked him with a look as he came to stand behind her. ‘You’re being very imperious,’ she complained. ‘Choosing my dance partners and choosing my jewellery. What if I don’t like your choice—like what you have in that box, for instance?’

  ‘Tell me, then, what you think,’ he said, and with that deftness that was his, something cool and heavy landed against her chest.

  She transferred her eyes from him to herself, and an instant gasp of surprise whispered from her as she stared at the most exquisite diamond-encrusted heart resting just above the valley between the creamy slopes of her breasts.

  ‘Oh, but this is beautiful,’ she breathed, lifting slender fingers to gently touch the heart.

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ he drawled as he concentrated on fastening the intricate clasp which would lock the necklace safely in place. ‘I may be imperious, but my taste is usually faultless.’

  ‘It’s a locket,’ she realised, ignoring his conceit. ‘If I look inside will I find your arrogant face looking out at me?’

  ‘No,’ he laughed. ‘It is for you to decide who you carry around in there.’

  You, Catherine thought. It would only ever be his image he would find nestling in any heart she possessed.

  ‘Well, thank you.’ She smiled up at him, keeping the tone as light as it had been between them despite the sudden wistfulness she was feeling inside. ‘Now I feel properly decked out to grace the
arm of the imperious Italian with the faultless taste.’

  She knew the moment she saw his eyes cloud over that her response had disappointed him. ‘You’ve always been fit to grace the arm of any man, Catherine,’ he informed her deeply. ‘I just happen to be the lucky one who claims the right to have you there.’

  It was too much, too intense. They just didn’t share these kind of deep and meaningful discussions. Never had done, never would do. It was the way of their relationship.

  Shallow, she wanted to call it, but shallow didn’t really say it either. Because there had never been anything shallow in the way she and Vito responded to each other.

  What they really did was muddle on, never knowing what the other felt inside, because it was safer not knowing than finding out and being mortally wounded. So instead they used their love for their son as the common denominator to justify their being together—and the sex, of course, which had never been a problem where they were concerned.

  And maybe her own clouding expression reminded him of all of that, because in the next moment Vito was smiling again, and the mockery was back when he ran a long finger down her spine and allowed it to settle low in the hollow of her back where the deep V in her dress finished.

  ‘I have this terrible archaic urge to send you back to your room to change,’ he admitted.

  Turning to face him, Catherine baited him with a look. ‘Just remember who gets to remove it himself later,’ she softly suggested.

  Luisa appeared then, saving Catherine from a rather delicious bit of punishing ravishment for that piece of seduction. ‘Oh, Catherine, what a lovely necklace!’ she exclaimed when she saw it.

  ‘I am reliably informed by the man who gave it to me that his taste is faultless,’ Catherine replied mock solemnly.

  ‘Vittorio, your conceit will one day be your downfall,’ his mother scolded.

  ‘And there was I about to say that I get my faultless good taste from you,’ Vito sighed—then, quite seriously, ‘You look beautiful, mi amore. How can a man be so lucky to have a mamma like you?’