An Elusive Desire

by Anne Mather

  ‘As a typist!’ He was scornful.

  ‘To begin with, yes.’ Jaime held up her head. ‘But I don’t intend to remain a typist all my life. The course I’m taking at college—–’

  ‘Oh, spare me the details!’ Rafaello was savage. ‘Do you think I want to hear about your job? You are a fool, Jaime, and you have made a fool of me, too.’ He gazed at her contemptuously. ‘I could kill you for that!’

  Jaime was frightened now. Not because of his threat to kill her; she would almost have welcomed his violence. Her fear was of a deeper kind, of a more fundamental nature, a realisation that perhaps she had been wrong, after all.

  ‘Raf—please!’ she begged. ‘Don’t be like this. I do care about you, I do! But you’re asking too much, too soon—–’

  ‘Or not enough,’ he snapped fiercely. ‘Perhaps you would have preferred me to ask you to live with me. Is that the kind of relationship you had in mind?’

  Jaime shook her head. ‘We were together—that was enough.’

  ‘For you, perhaps.’ He clenched his fists. ‘What kind of a woman are you?’

  ‘Raf, you’re not trying to see it my way. And—and I can’t bear it when you treat me like this.’

  ‘So?’ he snapped fiercely. ‘How would you have me treat you?’ His mouth thinned. ‘Are you asking me not to waste this golden opportunity?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jaime took a step back from him now. ‘Raf?’ she questioned uncertainly, and then caught her breath when his hands clamped on to her shoulders and his meaning was very plain.

  ‘You just said it,’ he declared. ‘You said you cared about me. Well—–’ his bitter gaze swept her from head to foot, ‘that is something I can understand.’

  Jaime gulped. ‘Raf, don’t—don’t look at me like that! I’m trying to be civilised about this.’

  ‘Oh, so am I,’ he retorted harshly. ‘Completely civilised. And what could be more civil but that we part the way we came together? As lovers!’

  ‘Raf!’ Jaime gazed at him disbelievingly. ‘Raf, we have to talk about this—–’

  ‘There is no more time for talking,’ he stated grimly. ‘I have talked too much as it is. Obviously you understand actions, not words.’ He jerked her roughly towards him, his mouth seeking the startled parting of hers. ‘Why should I not take advantage? This is all you came here for, is it not?’

  ‘Raf, don’t—–’ Jaime’s balled fists pressed against his chest, but he was so much stronger than she was, and he had the advantage of anger to force his will upon her.

  ‘Relax, Jaime,’ he muttered, grasping a handful of her hair and pulling her head back. ‘This is what you wanted. I am only here to oblige.’

  Her protests went for nothing. Beneath the imprisoning pressure of his hands, she had little chance of resistance, and besides, as his mouth continued to devour hers, the will to be free of him diminished. But as if realising he was making it easy for her, Rafaello changed his tactics. Instead of caressing her lips with warmth and tenderness, his mouth hardened to a savage assault, crushing her lips against her teeth and bringing the taste of blood to her tongue.

  ‘Raf, you’re mad—–’ she gasped, when she got her mouth free, but her panic only seemed to fire the fuels of his passion. With a triumphant cry he swept her up into his arms, and in spite of her flailing limbs, he carried her into the adjoining room and flung her on the bed.

  Watching him as he threw off his jacket and waistcoat, tearing his shirt apart so that the buttons flew in all directions, Jaime felt he was a stranger to her. Was this how her mother had felt, she wondered, when her father changed from the charming boy she had married into the sullen man who was not averse to delivering a blow should she disobey him? Rafaello was acting in a way she would never have dreamed he could act, and when his fingers went to the belt of his trousers, she was shaken into belated action.

  On trembling knees, she scrambled for the far side of the bed, but already she had waited too long. With a muttered oath he lunged on to the bed after her, and her desperate attempt was thwarted by the breathtaking weight of his body.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said, grasping the neck of her office blouse and tearing it open. ‘You have tormented me for the last time, Jaime. Now I will give you something to remember me by.’

  He disposed of her clothes without care for their appearance, tossing them carelessly on to the floor as his hands took possession of her body. With infinite pleasure, he imprisoned her hands above her head, so that she could not interfere with his enjoyment, and her eyes that only minutes before had pleaded for his forgiveness spat fire for his insensitivity.

  ‘Do you want me to hate you?’ she choked, twisting beneath him, but Rafaello’s face held no compassion.

  ‘Better hatred than the puny emotion you have been nurturing,’ he declared savagely. ‘At least hatred has fire and passion!’

  Her struggles were to no avail and, in spite of everything, Jaime began to feel a traitorous warmth in the pit of her stomach. His hands, savagely possessive as they were, were gradually arousing the feelings he had always been able to arouse, and seeing the sudden emotion in her face, Rafaello swore angrily.

  ‘Cagna! Lupa! You cannot be enjoying this!’ he protested violently, and Jaime dragged her swimming senses back from the brink of insanity.

  ‘Let me go, Raf, please!’ she pleaded, renewing her struggles, and Rafaello, content that she was aware of his contempt, laughed tauntingly.

  ‘So distrait! So angry!’ he jeered scornfully. ‘But so desirable, I fear …’

  His mouth left her lips to follow the creamy curve of her breast, searing a trail of burning kisses that made her flesh cringe. Finding the rigid peak, he paused briefly to suckle at its sweetness, and then, with a casual flick of his tongue, his lips moved lower to tease the quivering flatness of her stomach.

  ‘Raf, for God’s sake!’ she choked, when his head moved even lower, and as if tiring of his game, he came astride her.

  ‘So?’ he accused tormentingly, ‘why do you look so distressed? Why should I not satisfy my lust with you? Is this not what you have been doing with me?’ His lips twisted. ‘A fitting humiliation, is it not?’

  ‘Raf, you can’t be serious—–’

  ‘But I am.’ His face was pale with emotion. ‘Why should I not have you one more time? Can you think of a better way to destroy the memories that haunt me? Except by treating you as the selfish bitch you really are?’

  Jaime groaned. ‘Raf, don’t do this—–’ she begged, but he was not listening to her. Uncaring that he might hurt her, he thrust himself upon her, forcing his way into her body with a savagery Jaime could not withstand. ‘Oh, Raf!’ she sobbed, as his urgent mouth sought the parted sweetness of hers, and her tears ran between their lips in salty protestation.

  Yet, as if even in his fury he could not deny his feelings, the violence of his assault did not continue. Within the yielding warmth of her body, his movements became even, rhythmed, and his mouth that had sought hers in anger gentled to a passionate fervour. He was not raping her, she thought wildly, he was making love to her, and her own limbs responded to the feverish hunger of his embrace.

  It was all over much too soon, but even then Rafaello did not draw away from her. Instead, he lay with his face buried in her hair, its silky length strewn in sensual abandon across the satin coverlet.

  It was Jaime who moved first, and at her tentative stretching of her legs, Rafaello opened his eyes. She didn’t know what she had expected to see in his eyes, but not the look of bitter loathing that crossed his face before he dragged himself away from her. With a groan of disgust, he got up from the bed, and snatching up his strewn clothes, he strode towards the bathroom.

  ‘Raf—–’ she had to speak, but when he glanced back at her over his shoulder, she wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Go,’ he commanded. ‘Get out of here! When I come back, I want you to be gone!’

  Looking back, Jaime thought it was the invitation to Nicola�
��s wedding that had hurt her most. Perhaps, if Rafaello had left, if he had gone back to Italy and married some unknown Italian girl, she might have been able to dismiss him from her thoughts. Though that was unlikely. But for him to turn to Nicola, to marry Nicola, when she knew he had never had any intention of doing so, filled her with a terrible kind of torment. No doubt that was what he had intended, she acknowledged. It wasn’t only a woman scorned who possessed that kind of cruelty. But what troubled her most was how much it hurt, how much she suffered because of his actions, and how long it took for her to come to terms with the decision she had made.

  Going to the cathedral had been a deliberate attempt to turn the knife, to kill whatever it was inside her that still threshed and tore at her emotions, and partly it had worked. Rafaello was married now, there was nothing she could do about it; and she had left the cathedral silently, long before the bride and groom emerged from signing the register. It was over. She was free. And if that freedom had a hollow sound, time would quickly fill the void. And it had. Her work, and her success, had been both a satisfaction and a fulfilment, and it was no use now letting long-buried emotions destroy her hard-won detachment. She had done with the past. She had exorcised the ghosts that no longer came to haunt her, and she had to learn to face Rafaello without emotion, or leave here before it was too late.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE tentative knock that disturbed her contemplation brought Jaime back to the present with a start. Someone had obviously seen where she had gone, she thought with sudden anxiety. She should have known that Rafaello would not be prepared to wait for her to speak to him on her own terms.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called, getting half off the bed, only to sink weakly back again when a feminine voice answered her.

  ‘É Lucia, signorina. Mi scusi, ma può venire?’

  Hesitating only a moment longer, Jaime got off the bed and opened the door. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured apologetically. ‘What did you want?’

  ‘Il pranzo, signorina.’ Lucia sighed, seeking the words. ‘The meal—he is ready.’

  ‘The meal?’ Jaime was confused. ‘What meal?’ And then, glancing disbelievingly at her watch, she knew. It was nearly one o’clock! Long past the time when Rafaello had asked to speak to her. ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Si, signorina.’ Lucia was relieved. ‘Lunch,’ she repeated gratefully. ‘You will come, per piacere?’

  ‘Oh—yes.’ Jaime put up a nervous hand to her tumbled hair. ‘Just give me five minutes—er—cinque minute?’

  ‘Cinque minute,’ agreed Lucia, and with a polite bob of her head, she went away.

  Left to herself, Jaime stared at her reflection with wry misgivings. Like it or not now, Rafaello was going to be angry that she had ignored his summons, and it would give him another reason for resenting her audacity in coming here.

  Her brush restored the silken strands to order and securing her hair at her nape with a leather clasp, Jaime left her room. She found her way downstairs with confidence now, her long legs covering the distance with more determination than enthusiasm, running lightly down the marble staircase, only to come to an abrupt halt in the hall below. Rafaello was just emerging from a room to the right of the stairs, and when he looked up and saw her, their glances met and clashed in mutual antipathy.

  Jaime’s gaze fell first, her eyes moving away from his dark face in unwelcome contrition. She didn’t want to feel guilty, but she did, and lifting her shoulders offhandedly, she said: ‘I didn’t realise it was so late.’

  ‘But it is,’ retorted Rafaello harshly. ‘Much too late. Shall we go in to lunch? My—wife is waiting for us.’

  Jaime moistened her dry lips. ‘Nicola? She’s better?’ Her eyes widened in surprise, but Rafaello showed no such emotion.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied, gesturing for her to precede him. ‘Nicola has a healthy appetite, you will find.’ He paused before adding in a faintly sardonic tone: ‘For someone whose nerves are so fragile.’

  Nicola was waiting at the table, her fingers drumming impatiently against the cloth. Her eyes narrowed slightly when her husband and Jaime appeared together, and her first words were an uneasy reminder of why she had brought Jaime to the Castello.

  ‘So there you are, Jaime,’ she exclaimed, her gaze skimming her husband’s dark face to settle on the other girl’s somewhat troubled features. ‘Where did you go? We were having such a cosy conversation. Just because I felt unwell—–’

  ‘I—I had a headache,’ murmured Jaime uncomfortably, taking the chair Rafaello was holding out for her. ‘I—went to my room, and I’m afraid I forgot the time.’

  ‘I see.’ Nicola’s eyes shifted back to Rafaello as he seated himself at the end of the table. ‘I thought you might have been together.’

  ‘I see you are feeling much better,’ inserted Rafaello, as one of the maids came to serve them. ‘As usual, you are looking for a reason to blame someone else for your own shortcomings.’

  ‘Raf!’

  Nicola’s cry of protest brought an unwilling surge of sympathy, and Jaime concentrated hard on the tiny slivers of fish on her plate. Anchovies, olives, mushrooms, tomatoes—she had little appetite for any of the food, and Rafaello’s harsh denunciation did not make it any easier to swallow.

  Yet, in spite of her husband’s derision, Nicola made a good meal, blandly consuming everything that was put in front of her. From time to time, inadvertently on her part at least, Jaime’s eyes encountered Raf’s and she was quick to look away from their inimical appraisal. It was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and although he didn’t say anything, his meaning was implicit. No one who had been so violently sick less than two hours ago should have made such a rapid recovery, and even though Jaime knew Nicola had not feigned her illness, she felt she was missing some significance in the other girl’s behaviour.

  When the fish plates had been removed and a dish of cold meats had taken their place, Nicola made another attempt to start a conversation. Adopting a conciliatory tone, she said lightly: ‘We must try and make your visit interesting, Jaime. There’s very little to do here, but we are within driving distance of Florence and Siena, and the coastline is quite pretty, if you don’t mind the crowds.’

  ‘Oh, really—–’ Jaime protested nervously, ‘there’s no need to entertain me. I—er—well, I’m quite happy doing nothing, you know. I have—quite an active life in London, and it’s a change to relax …’

  ‘You must not forget that—Jaime—probably does quite a lot of travelling in the course of her work, Nicola,’ remarked Rafaello, but Jaime did not like his tone. ‘After all, we are fortunate that she has found the time to visit us. We must not presume to monopolise her freedom.’

  Nicola’s smile was smug. ‘I’m sure if you offered to show Jaime your country, she would not refuse, Raf.’ And ignoring the other girl’s shocked intake of breath, she continued: ‘I know you didn’t part the best of friends, but can’t we forget about the past?’

  Rafaello’s mouth thinned. ‘What are you suggesting, Nicola? That I neglect my work at this most important time of the year?’

  ‘Oh, please—–’ Jaime began, but she was not allowed to finish.

  ‘Why not?’ Nicola demanded. ‘Carlo Priori is perfectly capable of looking after your precious vines for a few days.’

  ‘So that I may escort you two ladies on a conducted tour of Tuscany?’ Rafaello’s nostrils flared. ‘I think not, Nicola. I am not a tour guide. I am quite sure you will find Lorenzo Costa far more satisfactory.’

  Nicola held up her head. ‘I don’t want Lorenzo Costa.’

  Rafaello shrugged. ‘That has not been my impression.’

  Nicola put down her fork. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Whatever you care to make of it, Nicola,’ replied Rafaello smoothly.

  Nicola’s fists clenched. ‘You—you bastard!’

  ‘It is not I who is the bastardo, Nicola.’

  ‘How—how can you?’

  Ni
cola almost sobbed the words, and Jaime wanted to die of embarrassment. ‘If you’ll excuse me—–’ she started, only to be interrupted again, this time by Rafaello.

  ‘It is I who ask to be excused, signorina,’ he declared formally, pushing back his chair. ‘A più tardi. I will see you both at dinner.’

  Rafaello’s departure left an uncomfortable void that Nicola seemed in no hurry to fill. For a while she seemed absorbed with her thoughts, but after a bowl of huge Italian strawberries had been set before her, she ventured an explanation.

  ‘Raf’s so—jealous,’ she exclaimed, and her careless words turned an unwelcome knife in Jaime’s stomach. ‘Oh, he doesn’t care about me, about how lonely I am, but if I—if I make a friend of anyone …’

  ‘Like Lorenzo Costa,’ murmured Jaime unwillingly, and Nicola nodded vigorously.

  ‘You’ve met Lorenzo. You know how—charming he can be. And he’s been so—kind to me.’

  ‘Kind?’ Jaime was sceptical.

  ‘Yes, kind,’ declared Nicola defensively. ‘I think if it wasn’t for Lorenzo, I’d have gone quietly mad!’

  Jaime shook her head. ‘But is it wise? Antagonising Raf, I mean? If he objects to your friendship—–’

  ‘Oh, I knew you’d take his side,’ muttered Nicola tearfully. ‘You’re not trying to understand.’

  ‘I am trying, Nicola.’ Jaime wished she could be more objective about it. ‘It’s just that—well, I don’t see how my being here is going to help matters.’

  ‘It won’t. If you refuse to help me,’ Nicola retaliated resentfully. ‘Have you thought about what I asked you earlier? You saw how impossible it is for me to speak to Raf. Couldn’t you at least make an effort?’

  Jaime got up from the table now, pushing her annoyingly unsteady hands into the pockets of her jeans. She had known this was coming, and she was still unable to answer her. How could she speak to Rafaello? How could she plead Nicola’s case? How could she ask anything of him, when he had so obviously not forgotten or forgiven the past?

  ‘Nicola—–’