by Heidi Rice
Even on that day over a week ago, when he’d overreacted so spectacularly to Don Vincenzo’s decision to leave his estate to him, having her on the boat beside him, being able to lose himself in her had been enough to take the turmoil and the anger away.
He still didn’t want the damn inheritance, not that Don Vincenzo would listen to any of his objections, but he didn’t feel nearly so trapped now, so scared of accepting the old man’s affection. And the main reason for that had been Eva’s presence. He didn’t know how or why. But he did know he was going to miss her when he had to go back to San Francisco alone—her bright sense of humour, her easy affection, even her foolish concern for his feelings about this reunion or her misplaced faith in his integrity, not to mention her sexy, responsive little body. She made him feel lighter and more carefree than he had since he was a boy.
He hurled the hunk of ciabatta he’d been eating into the underbrush. No need to worry about their parting yet, he still had another couple of days to enjoy her. Brushing his hands on his hiking shorts, he crooked a finger at her. ‘Picnic’s over, sweetheart. It’s payback time.’
Putting down her paper plate slowly, she darted a glance to her right. ‘Only if you catch me first,’ she said, then, to his amazement, leapt onto her feet in one fluid movement and shot off like a gazelle.
He swore and levered himself up to chase after her. She was a lot faster than he would have given her credit for, plus he had a belly full of food to contend with. So they were both breathless and laughing hard when he finally tagged her round the waist and slung her to the ground, rolling over to take the brunt of the fall and then settling on top of her.
Holding her wrists in one hand, he levered them above her head and looked down into her laughing eyes as she wriggled furiously trying to buck him off. ‘So finally I know how you stayed a virgin so long,’ he joked. ‘You run faster than an Olympic sprinter.’
Her body stilled and she looked away, the flags of colour on her cheeks flying high.
‘Hey, I’m kidding,’ he said. He’d embarrassed her and he hadn’t meant to.
She looked back. ‘That’s okay.’
‘No, it’s not. Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said, but the vivid colour on her cheeks said otherwise.
He let go of her wrists, but kept her pinned to the ground. ‘It’s not nothing. What did I say?’
He saw her swallow, knew that shuttered look that meant she was building up the courage to ask something. ‘Does it still bother you? That I was a virgin?’
He wanted to laugh off the question. Say of course it didn’t bother him. But the problem was it did. Now more than ever. Because however hard he’d tried he couldn’t explain away the feeling of responsibility towards her that kept growing every time they made love. Every time she clung to him and begged him for release. Every time she sobbed out his name while reaching orgasm. Every time he taught her a new way to please him, or showed her a new way he could please her. The truth was he loved knowing he was the first man who had ever made her feel that way—and apart from making him feel like a Neanderthal jerk, it scared the hell out of him, because it made no sense at all. He didn’t have any claim on her, any more than she did on him, and he didn’t want to have, so why did he feel so possessive?
‘Fine.’ He forced a self-deprecating smile to his lips. ‘It does bother me a bit.’ His hands settled on her waist, the thin satin of her dress brushing his palms. ‘I want to know why it took you so long.’
‘If I tell you,’ she began, her hands covering his, her eyes thoughtful, ‘would you tell me something about yourself in return?’
Damn, he should have seen that one coming. But instead of evading her, as he had always done before, he nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’ Holding her hands, he leant forward and kissed the warm sun-kissed skin on the tip of her nose. ‘So what’s your answer?’
‘You have to promise not to laugh,’ she added, colouring again, and looking so vulnerable his heart lurched in his chest.
‘I won’t laugh,’ he said, and he knew he wouldn’t. Whatever reasons she had for denying the passion inside her for so long, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like them.
‘Can I sit up?’
He wanted to say no, but could see she needed the distance. ‘All right.’ He lifted off her.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she looked out into the meadow at the afternoon sun dipping towards the trees. ‘Actually it’s remarkably boring,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t do much socialising when I was a teenager.’
‘Why not?’
She jerked her shoulder looking surprised at the question. Although he didn’t know why she would be. She was such a lively, engaging person.
‘I was horribly nerdy. My parents were academics and they wanted me to concentrate on my studies. And I wanted to please them.’
She made it sound simple. But he wasn’t convinced. Why had she been so dead set on pleasing them?
‘By the time I got to university I was two years ahead of my peers. And I didn’t know the first thing about boys.’ She gave a hopeless little laugh. ‘Plus I think my love of pirate fantasies may have given me some unrealistic expectations. And by the time I got over that, and realised that swashbuckling sex gods are quite thin on the ground in real life, I was stuck in such a huge rut it took someone spectacular to kick me out of it.’
The shy smile she sent him had his heart tripping over. He skimmed his thumb down her cheek. ‘Please tell me you don’t mean me.’
No one had ever thought he was spectacular before. And he knew he wasn’t. So why did it feel so good to hear her say it?
She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. ‘Only in a sexual sense, you understand.’
‘You little tease,’ he said softly, framing her face. Then he kissed her.
Her lips softened, and he fed on the sweet, heady taste of figs and innocence. The soft sigh that issued against his cheek made it hard to focus. But he forced himself to draw back. Not to take her in the quick greedy gulps he wanted to.
‘It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think?’ he said, trying to lighten the mood and dispel the feeling of hopelessness that threatened to engulf him. ‘That you were a good girl and did what your parents wanted, while I was a rebel and did the opposite. And yet we both ended up regretting it.’
Her eyes flickered with something that looked like sadness. ‘Why did you run away from home?’
The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, he thought grimly.
‘Was that your question?’ he asked, stalling.
She nodded. He debated giving her a sanitised version. Or making something up that would deflect her from the truth about who he really was. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lied to a woman after all.
But as he met her trusting gaze he knew he couldn’t lie to her. Better to take the stars out of her eyes, once and for all.
‘When my dad came home from the hospital the night Mum died, I was fourteen,’ he began, the horror of that long ago summer night making his gut churn. ‘I thought my whole world had collapsed. But it hadn’t. Not yet.’
Eva could hear the tension in his voice, see the rigid control in his face and wanted desperately to take the pain away he was trying so hard to hide.
She touched his arm. ‘It’s okay, Nick. You don’t have to tell me.’
‘Yeah, I do,’ he said, the tone gruff. ‘My dad was wild with grief. She’d told him the truth. That I wasn’t his biological son. And he lost it for a while.’
Tears pricked her eyes. She hated to think what that meant—and how deeply he had been hurt by an incident that even now he couldn’t bring himself to describe.
‘He apologised a few days later at her funeral,’ Nick continued, plucking a tuft of grass, flinging it away. ‘He said it didn’t matter. That he still loved me, still considered me to be his son. But I wouldn’t believe him.’
Eva sniffed, scrubbed away the tears.
Nick’s he
ad shot up and he scowled. ‘Don’t you dare cry, Eva. Not for me.’
‘Why not? It must have been dreadful for you.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ he said, as if the trauma he had suffered that night had been nothing at all. When she knew how bad it must have been, if he was unable to acknowledge the pain, even now.
‘I made him pay for that lapse for the rest of his life,’ he said grimly. ‘Him and my sister Ruby. I made their lives hell for two years.’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, the gesture defensive and full of frustration. ‘I got into fights, bunked off school, argued with him constantly. And then I ran off and got up to much worse on the streets. And I didn’t go back. Ever. Even when Ruby begged me to. Even when he was dying.’
The loathing in his voice was so intense, so bitter, she didn’t know how to get past it. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ she said, the tears flowing freely now. ‘You were a frightened, confused child.’
‘You think?’ he said, the cynicism brutal and unyielding—and nothing like the warm, wonderful man she had discovered in the last two weeks. ‘I know what I’m capable of,’ he added, his lips twisting in a bitter smile. ‘I’ve known it ever since I was a kid. And now I’ve read Leonardo’s journal, I know why.’
Standing up, he walked back to the picnic basket.
She ran after him, pulled him round to face her. ‘You’re wrong. You’re nothing like Leonardo,’ she blurted out, knowing it was true, wanting to make him believe it, but not knowing how.
He shook his head, his expression closed off and unreadable, deliberately shutting her out. ‘How would you know?’ was all he said—and her newfound courage deserted her.
Kicking the lid of the basket closed, he shoved it under his arm and glanced at the grey clouds that had covered the sun. ‘We better get back to the palazzo—it’s going to rain.’
She looped her arm through his as they walked back, but she could already feel him slipping away. And felt powerless to do anything about it—the fresh citrus scent of the lemon orchard a cruel reminder of the short-lived new Eva.
He made love to her that night, bringing her to orgasm countless times, and taking his own pleasure with ruthless efficiency, the seduction brutal and relentless as if to prove that sex was all he had ever wanted—until she fell into an exhausted sleep.
She woke groggy and sore the next morning to find him gone—and opened the note sitting on the dresser with trembling fingers.
Stay sweet, Eva. And go find one of the good guys.
And then she sobbed as if her foolish romantic heart were shattering.
Because it was.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘HEY, what’s the matter, man? Something wrong with the beer?’
Nick tuned out the comment from his publicist Jay, his gaze locked on the tall, willowy blonde standing on the other side of the art gallery. He’d recognised her as soon as she’d walked in a minute ago.
Eva’s friend, Tess… Something. He’d been to three different openings at this godforsaken gallery in the last six weeks, ever since he’d returned to San Francisco, and he had never admitted to himself the reason why he kept coming back here.
But the miserable truth was suddenly staring him in the face with startling clarity. Because as soon as Eva’s friend had appeared, his heartbeat had rocketed into his throat—just as it did every night when he struggled to fall asleep in his empty bed, or when he switched on his computer only to spend the rest of the day staring at a blank screen.
He hadn’t got over Eva. Hadn’t been able to forget her. Because even the most tenuous link to her made him feel like crap.
‘Hey, Earth to Nick,’ Jay said, swinging his palm in front of Nick’s eyes.
Nick passed the lukewarm beer to his publicist. ‘Hold this,’ he said, ignoring Jay’s puzzled frown as he headed through the crowd.
Sweat popped out on his forehead and made his hands feel clammy. He ignored it.
This wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t going to make it a big deal. Maybe all he really needed was closure? Something he’d denied himself by not saying goodbye to Eva properly. And here was the perfect opportunity. He could have a quick chat with Eva’s friend, just to see how Eva was doing. And then he’d finally be able to stop thinking about her. Every damn second, of every damn day. And every damn night.
He’d waited patiently for her to contact him. To ask him to come back. But it had been six weeks, and she hadn’t. So he had to let it go now.
As he approached the woman he formulated the best way to introduce himself casually in case she didn’t remember him. But then she lifted her head, laughing at something her friend had said, and spotted him.
The laugh died on her lips and her eyes narrowed sharply as he stopped in front of her.
‘Well, if it isn’t the playboy screenwriter,’ she said.
He frowned at the outright hostility in her tone. Seemed she remembered him all right. ‘The name’s Nick.’
‘I know your name.’ She flicked a derisive glance over him that had his temper prickling. ‘Although I can think of several other names which would suit you better.’
‘Have you got a problem with me?’ To hell with polite introductions. He’d hardly slept in close to two months, his writing had been shot to hell, and now he was getting the third degree from someone he barely knew. What was up with that?
She glared back. ‘You treated the kindest, sweetest, most genuine woman I know as your personal plaything. Then dumped her like she was nothing. So yes, we do have a problem.’
‘What are you talking about?’ His voice cracked, the shock at her attack nothing compared to the emotion banding around his chest.
That wasn’t the way it had happened at all. He’d done the decent thing. He’d had no claim on Eva and very little to offer her. So he’d walked away. And left it up to her. Even though it had nearly killed him. Was still killing him. He deserved a damn medal.
‘Don’t you get it?’ She fired the words at him. ‘You destroyed her, you creep. She cried over you for weeks. And she never cries.’ The girl’s diatribe washed over him as temper gave way to regret and confusion. If she’d felt that much for him, why hadn’t she contacted him?
He’d given her a choice. Why hadn’t she taken it?
‘But the good news is,’ the girl continued, her eyes boring into him, ‘she’s over you now. She’s met a great guy. And he treats her right.’
The hell she had. The temper he’d been trying to muster came surging back to life.
‘What guy? What’s his name?’ He’d strangle the bastard.
She couldn’t have got over him so easily—not when he wasn’t over her.
‘It’s…’ The girl hesitated. ‘It’s Bill and he’s a…’ Another slight pause. ‘A computer programmer.’
A computer programmer called Bill! What the…?
No way. Eva wouldn’t be happy with someone like that. She needed adventure. She needed passion and excitement in her life. She was like a beautiful flower burst into bloom. And she’d damn well bloomed with him. Which meant she didn’t get to bloom with anyone else.
‘The hell with that,’ he snarled under his breath. Then turned and walked out of the art gallery, the emotion burning his throat bursting into flames.
So she thought she could just take up with someone else?
I don’t think so.
It wasn’t over. Not till he said so. He’d done the decent thing and given her a damn choice. And she’d thrown it back in his face. He still wanted her. And he needed her. And she needed him. Not some computer nerd called Bill. End of story.
Hailing a cab, Nick shouted at the driver as he launched himself into the back seat. ‘Take me to the airport. I’ve got a plane to catch.’
He’d been through six long weeks of torture and now she thought she could just blow him off. Well, she could forget it. He was through hanging around. And he was through pretending to be a nice guy.
‘Eva, it’s me, Tess. We
need to talk.’
‘Tess?’ Eva glanced at the clock on her computer—just past two o’clock in the afternoon London time on a Saturday afternoon. ‘Is everything all right?’ Why was Tess calling so early in the morning? She never got up before noon on a weekend.
‘Everything’s wonderful,’ Tess’s voice came down the phone line, but she didn’t sound too sure.
‘Okay,’ Eva said carefully. Tess could be a bit of a drama queen, but she sounded genuinely worried. ‘So what do we need to talk about?’
‘I did something a tiny bit rash last night. And I thought I should let you know.’ There was a long pause. ‘In case there are consequences.’
‘Consequences?’ That didn’t sound good. ‘What did you do?’
‘I bumped into Nick Delisantro at the Union Square gallery.’
‘Oh.’ Eva felt the sharp tug of grief at the mention of his name, and hated herself for it. ‘I see’ she said dully, forcing the words out.
She was over him. She had to be. It had been over a month and a half since she’d woken up in the master suite in the palazzo to find him gone. And she’d changed beyond all recognition from that devastated woman who had cried herself hoarse for two solid weeks, until she was hollowed out and exhausted and simply had no tears left in her.
Admittedly, it had taken her even longer to call a halt to her pity party and put her wild fling with Nick Delisantro into its proper perspective.
Yes she’d fallen for him. Hard and fast and far too easily. And once she’d finally got past the howling grief of losing him, it had been pathetically obvious to figure out why.
In his own way, Nick Delisantro had been everything she’d always fantasised about in her dream man. Tough and untamed, unconventional and wildly exciting on the outside but surprisingly tender and thoughtful and troubled on the inside. He’d made her feel beautiful and exciting and vivid. He’d lifted her life out of the ordinary and made it extraordinary. And most of all he’d made her feel important. The way her parents never had.
