At least tonight’s party had proved an effective distraction, barely giving her time to think, let alone brood about how bad it had been between her and Salvatore before he’d flown to Rio. Awful didn’t come close to the way that night had ended. She had insisted on clearing up the mess they’d created on the kitchen floor and had insisted he help her. At first he hadn’t believed she meant it—as if someone like him shouldn’t have to participate in something as ordinary as housework. But she had held firm, her emotions still running high after the furious words they had shared and the highly charged sex which had followed.
‘Do you think it’s magically going to clean itself?’ she had demanded. ‘Or that one of your staff should have to deal with it in the morning? You were the one who threw everything on the floor!’
‘I didn’t hear you objecting at the time!’ he had flared back.
He had been angry and moody and she had felt...weird. As if he’d used her, even though she’d enjoyed every second of it and had been an active participant. She’d figured out that the best thing to do would have been to have taken herself off to her cottage and spent the night apart from him. To have given them both the space she’d suspected they needed to cool down.
But something had held her back from walking away from him. Maybe it was because sometimes, in the darkness of the night, she felt closer to him than at any other time. Not necessarily during sex, but afterwards, when he would lie stroking her hair, his voice lazy and reflective. As if within the enclosed space of their bedroom none of the worries and cares of the outside world existed. As if, for a few brief moments, he allowed all the barriers with which he surrounded himself to crumble to the ground.
And that was why she had allowed him to take her in his arms and kiss her again, once they’d finished scrubbing at the kitchen tiles. Because in the face of all her growing insecurity about the future, his embrace had felt comforting and safe. And that was just an illusion, she reminded herself bitterly.
And then she looked up and saw Salvatore standing on the other side of the crowded room, his eyes trained unwaveringly on her, and everything else just faded away. Lina’s heart burned, as if someone had punched a red-hot fist to the middle of her chest. She’d told herself she was going to get over him and prove she didn’t need him—emotionally or physically. But what power on earth could ever make her immune to him?
Salvatore felt a stab of awareness as his eyes connected with Lina’s and a wave of something extraordinary flowed through his body like a powerful surge of electricity—an effect she had on him which no other woman had ever been able to match. Two whole weeks had passed yet it seemed he was still susceptible to her particular magic. But she could make him angry as well as filling him with desire, and he was angry now, because he didn’t want to feel this way.
Not about her.
Not about anyone.
His gaze scanned over her and he realised she was wearing exactly the same outfit as the night he’d taken her to the gala ball, when he hadn’t recognised her. But tonight he wasn’t having any difficulty recognising her, despite the rigid gown and intricately coiled hair. Because no amount of face paint or gilding could deflect from a sensual and earthy beauty which needed no artifice. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man beside her—some creep of a journalist he thought he recognised. And as the man moved closer, Salvatore experienced a savage jolt of something which felt like possessiveness. His throat dried. Or was it protectiveness?
He began to walk towards them and flinched as a flash went off in his face, but he carried on walking, weaving his way through the crowd and ignoring the sound of people vying for his attention and the hopeful smiles of so many women, until eventually he reached Lina. The man with the ridiculous hairstyle brightened and held out a hand, which Salvatore ignored.
‘Hi! Brett Forrester of San Fran Daily. We’ve met before. At the races last year. Do you remember?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Salvatore repressively, but the other man failed to take the hint and leave.
‘So, what do you think about your girlfriend’s designs, Sal?’
Salvatore felt his fists tighten as the nickname he never used took him right back to the schoolyard. Suddenly, he had the urge to lash out, in a way he hadn’t wanted to do since those circling fights when the other kids had taunted him and called his mother puttana. Did Lina guess at his discomfiture—was that why she put her hand on his bunched forearm, her fingers acting as the gentlest of restraints, just as the blue-white flash of a camera exploded around them?
‘We don’t have to stay, you know,’ she said, very quietly, blinking against the bright light. ‘We can leave any time you want.’
He resented her understanding tone. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need her kindness or her soft compassion. That he could manage perfectly well on his own. ‘But this is your night, Lina,’ he answered dangerously. ‘Surely you want to enjoy every second of your success?’
Did the journalist sense the sudden scent of conflict in the air? Was that why he pulled out a notebook and a pencil? ‘Tell me how you two met.’
Salvatore’s gaze was stony. ‘That is not for public consumption.
Still the journalist didn’t give up. ‘But you’re both Sicilian, yes?’
‘Listen to me,’ said Salvatore in a voice of silken finality. ‘The evening has obviously been an absolute triumph for Miss Vitale, though in future it might be better if you gave your subject matter a little more personal space. And that’s the only quote you’re going to get from me, Forrester. Understand?’
‘But—’
‘The only quote,’ affirmed Salvatore grimly.
Maybe it was the ripple of danger in his voice which finally convinced the journalist to retreat, leaving Salvatore alone with Lina and the furious beat of his heart. She was looking at him nervously, as if she couldn’t quite gauge his mood. And the crazy thing was, neither could he. It was as if he didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of what was going to come out of it next.
‘I’m glad you managed to make it,’ she said, her voice edged with a kind of desperation as if she was trying to pretend nothing was happening.
What was happening? he wondered as a waiter came by with a tray of drinks and he took a crystal beaker of fizzy water to slake his thirst before looking around the room. ‘This is some party,’ he observed softly.
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You mean you don’t?’
‘I didn’t say that, either.’ He gave his empty glass to another waiter. ‘But doing seedy interviews with journalists like Brett Forrester has never really been my scene.’
Her teeth were chewing on the gleam of her lips. ‘Nor mine.’
‘Neither do I enjoy the way I was ambushed by the paparazzi from the moment I arrived.’
She looked at him acidly. ‘Then maybe you should have surrounded yourself with security!’
He glared at her. ‘Maybe I should!’
Her voice dipped into an angry whisper. ‘Why did you bother coming at all, when you’re in such a filthy mood?’
‘I suppose I wanted to support you.’
‘Forgive me for saying so, Salvatore, but this doesn’t feel remotely like support.’
He knew that. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from the bitter words which were tumbling out from somewhere deep and dark within him. Because something bitter had begun to harden inside him. Something which was making it difficult for him to breathe. He looked around to where one of Siena’s assistants was standing in front of a queue of people, tapping out frantically on her tablet—presumably compiling a wait-list.
‘You’ve come a long way from the woman who just wanted to make a living,’ he observed softly. ‘You’ve changed, Lina.’
She was shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe wha
t he was saying. ‘Of course I’ve changed,’ she whispered. ‘I had to. Didn’t you change when you came here? Didn’t you feel you had to do that, so that you’d blend in? Or do you think I would have fitted into this glitzy city if I’d just bombed around on my little bike, wearing dusty old sneakers and frumpy clothes? Maybe that’s what you would have preferred me to do?’ she added, into the charged silence which seemed to have enveloped them. ‘To have stayed exactly the same as I was.’
He stared at the tight shiny spirals of black hair which were coiled on top of her head. At the heavy satin gown which effectively ironed out every one of her luscious curves. At the diamonds which dazzled at her neck and her wrist, their blue-white fire almost as bright as the photographer’s flash.
‘Yes,’ he ground out. ‘That’s what I would have preferred. Because you don’t look like Lina any more.’
‘And yet when I did look like Lina and behave like her—doing that very traditional thing of cooking a Sicilian meal for you as a surprise—that wasn’t right either, was it?’ she questioned. ‘In fact, you acted as if I had committed a terrible crime.’
‘Because I didn’t sign up for domesticity!’ he retorted. ‘I didn’t want some West Coast recreation of a life I left behind a long time ago!’
She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Do you want to know something?’ she said, at last, her voice low and trembling. ‘That I had stupidly started to care for you? Yes, I admit it—even though you had warned me against doing so—I had fallen into the same trap as so many others! I cared because I liked the man you were underneath all the trappings. In fact, sometimes I found myself wishing you didn’t have all that damned money, because it suits you to think women are only interested in your wealth, doesn’t it? Just like I wish your mother hadn’t deserted you and your father hadn’t neglected you afterwards. But we can’t rewrite history, Salvatore, no matter how much we’d like to. And you will never heal from the wounds of your past—because you’ll never allow yourself to!’
‘That’s enough,’ he snarled.
‘No. No, it’s not enough. I’ve listened to you often enough when you laid down all your terms. The least now you can do is to hear me out. Because no woman is ever going to be right for you, are they? There is no female on earth who could possibly fulfil your exacting and contradictory demands—because they are unachievable!’
‘Too right, they are. And do you want to know why?’ He stabbed his fingers into the air, in a way she’d seen him do once before. ‘Because I don’t want all that stuff! I don’t want domesticity and living by the clock. And I don’t want children, either—do you understand? Children who become the unwilling victims of the mess their parents make of their relationships! I’m not seeking the chains which other men strive to anchor themselves with. So why don’t you do yourself a favour, Lina—and stay away from me?’
Lina’s throat was so dry she could hardly breathe and the fitted dress felt as tight as a shroud. She would have run out of there—she wanted to run out of there—but she couldn’t. Not with these stupidly high heels and a wall of people in front of her. But importantly, she knew she shouldn’t run away, even if it were physically possible. Not with her potential future lying in front of her. Here there were potential clients and potential backers and she couldn’t just storm out of there because her heart felt as if it were breaking. Siena had taken a chance on her and given her the opportunity of a lifetime and now her efforts were finally beginning to bear fruit. And this had been what she’d wanted, hadn’t it? In fact, her ambition had over-vaulted itself and not only had she achieved far more than she would ever have believed possible, but Siena had told her that a lot more lay ahead.
More than that, she had learned something about herself along the way. In her eagerness to please people and keep the peace, Lina had allowed herself to ignore the way they were treating her. She had pretty much always fallen in with other people’s demands. Her mother had done it and now it seemed she was in danger of letting Salvatore do it, too. He wasn’t interested in what she wanted—only in his own closed and selfish agenda.
And suddenly, she could feel her nerves and her fears slipping away from her. Somehow she would get through the rest of the evening and the rest of her life, just not with Salvatore. Never again with him. Why try to cling to a man who could be so hurtful? Why chase after something he would never be prepared to give her? Because she had wanted this. Worked hard for it. Was she really going to let it slip away because she was pursuing someone who had always been beyond her reach? She owed herself more than that.
So, although her heart was beating so hard that it hurt, she tilted her chin and fixed him with a cool look. ‘Look, you’re clearly not enjoying yourself and I really ought to circulate. So why don’t you go on ahead? It looks like I’m going to be here for some time.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll wait,’ he said.
‘No.’ Her voice was quiet, but determined. In fact, she’d never felt quite so determined in her life. ‘Honestly. Just go. I really don’t need you here.’
He opened his mouth as if to object, as if her sudden poise had perplexed him. As if he were the only one in this doomed relationship who was allowed to make decisions. But what could he possibly object to, when she was giving him everything he wanted?
He’d provided her with an escape route, hadn’t he?
Surely now she could return the favour.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SALVATORE STARED AT the newspaper which had been placed neatly on his desk and the anger which had been smouldering inside him since he’d got out of bed that morning now threatened to combust. Splashed all over the inside pages was a feature about last night’s launch party for Lina’s handbags, with the usual shots of seasoned attendees presenting their best sides to the camera, their posed smiles in place. But it was the photograph of him with Lina which disturbed him most, the one with her hand on his arm, which had inspired the excruciating headline speculating on whether San Francisco’s most famous bachelor had finally lost his heart to a woman from his homeland. Which made a pulse begin to flicker at his temple.
If he looked closely—which he seemed to be doing, despite his initial inclination to crush the offending journal in his fist—then he could see something in her unguarded expression which disturbed him. Which seemed to vindicate his determination to move on from her. He swallowed. For wasn’t her Madonna-like face soft as she looked at him, her dark eyes full of the care she’d confessed she felt for him? He felt his heart clench with something which felt like pain, but instantly he blocked it out. Because he didn’t do that kind of pain. Not any more.
Pushing the paper away, he looked up at his assistant who had appeared at the door, carrying a tiny cup of super-strong espresso, her sharp attention immediately drawn to the article in front of him.
‘You’ve seen it?’ she said. ‘I thought it best to draw your attention to it. I know you never usually read that rag.’
He took the coffee from her and sipped. Delicious. ‘Must have been a slow news day,’ he said acidly. ‘Could you bring me in the files about the orphanage in Romania, please, Maggie? As quickly as possible.’
He could tell from her slightly aggrieved expression that she was irritated by his terse response and lack of additional information, but Salvatore didn’t care. He didn’t want to discuss it any more. Not with anyone. The subject was closed. He disposed of the newspaper and threw himself into his work, and for several hours it proved engaging enough to allow him to forget all the domestic trivia which had been weighting him down of late. He told himself he should be celebrating what looked like the end of his liaison with Lina, and the freedom that would bring. But the crazy thing was that several times he found himself wanting to lift the phone and talk to her. He frowned. He didn’t usually ring her from the office. But then, he was usually sated from a blissful night of sex, which kept him going until he saw her again at dinner tim
e. With narrowed eyes he gazed out of his office window, but for once he failed to be dazzled by the spectacular view across the rooftops to where blue sky met blue water.
Because there had been no sex last night, had there? Irritated by her cool assertion that she would prefer to remain at the party without him, Salvatore had indeed jumped into his waiting limousine and been driven home. But he hadn’t gone straight to bed. He had sat out on the softly lit terrace, with music playing in the background, looking up at the stars. On a purely logical level he had been aware that the relationship was approaching its final meltdown stage and would soon be over. But it hadn’t quite reached that stage and he hadn’t stopped wanting her, just as he knew, deep down, she hadn’t stopped wanting him. So why shouldn’t they both capitalise on that? They had entered this arrangement sensibly, which meant there was no reason why it shouldn’t end on a similar, sensible note.
He had been feeling almost nostalgic as he’d waited for her and the minutes had ticked slowly by. He might open a good bottle of champagne and they would toast her success before retiring to his bedroom and satisfying each other in a way he’d been missing ever since he’d flown to Rio. And who was to say that some kind of arrangement like that couldn’t continue, once she had moved into a place of her own?
He heard the sound of the electric gates opening and a car stopping. The slam of a door, and her softly accented voice saying goodnight. His body tensed as he waited for her.
But Lina didn’t come.
She must have known he was there, for the drift of the music would have reached the courtyard and she would have looked up to see the lights on.
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