There was a sense of peace, of timelessness.
‘Dante will eat with the men this morning,’ Graziella revealed, casting Ben a benevolent look. ‘Then he plans to take you with him for a few hours.’
Ben’s face lit with pleasure. ‘Is he really?’
Graziella’s smile verged on laughter. ‘That is what he said.’
‘Oh, boy! When?’
Graziella checked her watch. ‘Eight-thirty. You have forty-five minutes in which to eat breakfast.’
‘And change,’ Taylor added, ‘be smothered in sunscreen cream and find your sunhat.’
They made it with time to spare, and Taylor sat patiently as Ben hopped from one foot to another, waiting for Dante to appear.
‘There he is!’
A very different Dante from the man she was accustomed to seeing, for absent were the sophisticated trappings. Instead, he wore working clothes, well-worn and serviceable, dust-covered boots, with a brimmed hat shading his hard-boned features.
She watched his easy, lithe strides as he drew close, and the sheer physicality of the man caught her breath, a vivid reminder of the strong arms anchoring her body to his as he had kissed her senseless…oh, heavens…eight, nine hours before.
It was all too easy to recall the feel of the possession of his mouth, the size and hardness of his arousal…and the feelings he aroused deep within.
Even now, awareness flared and spread unbidden through her body, and a part of her ached for the impossible.
How long before he demanded an answer? And what would she say when he did?
For the love of all the patron saints…what could she say?
Yes was such a simple word, but the result meant gifting more, so much more than she felt equipped to give.
Living, sharing intimacy with a man who simply saw the acquisition of a wife as a convenient solution…despite his denial.
If she did agree, what would that make her? A trophy wife residing in beautiful homes around the world, a generous allowance, a social hostess…content with her husband’s presence and attention whenever he chose to give it?
Yet the alternative…could she renege on her sister’s wishes? Choose subjecting Ben, in his formative years, to a life of being shuttled between two households on different continents?
And hadn’t she already discounted that by agreeing to share Dante’s Sydney home? Wasn’t that the reason she was here in Tuscany?
But to take the situation a giant leap forward by agreeing to marriage…it was crazy, inconceivable. Wasn’t it?
‘Good morning.’
The sound of Dante’s drawled greeting brought Taylor’s attention sharply into focus, and she met his musing gaze with equanimity.
‘Hi.’ Her smile was bright…too bright? Worse, did he divine more than she wanted him to see?
Act, why don’t you?
To a degree, wasn’t that what she’d been doing since they’d consulted over Ben’s welfare in a Sydney legal office…how many weeks ago? Five, six?
‘Can we go now?’ Ben begged, then he laughed as Dante lifted him high and settled him astride his shoulders.
‘I see you’re dressed for work,’ he teased, and Ben responded with a resounding, ‘Yes!’
‘In that case, let’s go join the men.’
Taylor watched them move down the steps, man and boy, linked by d’Alessandri blood, connected by a loving bond…destined to a future which would bind them together for the rest of their lives.
Lives she would share…completely, or to a lesser degree. The choice was hers.
Enough, already. She had a book to finish, a deadline to meet, and rumination wouldn’t achieve pages written.
She glanced towards Graziella, who was in the process of pouring her third espresso, and rose to her feet as Lena came out onto the terrace to clear their table.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll collect my laptop and spend a few hours working.’
‘Of course, my dear,’ Graziella conceded graciously. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you at lunch.’
The library provided the perfect ambience, with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases and large desk, and concentrated effort ensured the necessary focus as Taylor opened her manuscript file, reread the chapter she was currently working on and did some minor editing before creating fresh pages.
Ideal circumstances, the story was in her head…so why didn’t the scene flow? The dialogue seemed ho-hum, the narrative sedentary.
All because Dante’s forceful image crept insidiously into her mind, and refused to disappear.
After ten minutes, she muttered an unladylike oath, took a deep breath, flexed her fingers…and banished him.
It couldn’t be said her fingers flew over the keys, but she achieved a credible number of pages, and frowned when a knock sounded at the thick wooden door, followed by it swinging open to reveal Dante in the aperture.
Taylor looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then realisation hit, and she sank back in the chair.
He’d washed and changed into black jeans and a white chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled back a few turns, showing muscular forearms.
‘Lena is about to serve lunch.’
It was one o’clock already? She pressed save, closed the laptop and shifted it into one hand. ‘Thanks. I’ll go tidy up.’
She moved towards the door, pausing when he didn’t step aside, and she flicked him a startled glance as he reached out and tucked a wayward lock of hair back behind her ear.
Was she aware of the faint frown that creased her forehead? Hair that looked as if she’d run her fingers through it countless times?
He very much doubted she registered the pulse beating thickly at the base of her throat. It made him want to touch, feel its tempo, then soothe it with his lips.
Instead he offered a lazy smile. ‘A productive morning?’
She didn’t want to be so conscious of him…the scent of soap, a hint of male essence, the languorous warmth emanating from his powerful body.
‘Yes. Thank you,’ she added politely, and felt a sense of relief as he moved to one side so she could pass.
Ben waxed lyrical during lunch, a meal comprising pasta, followed by fresh fruit, and eaten in the conservatory.
‘The grapes are huge. Dante says they’re ripening well.’ He looked a little wistful. ‘I wish we could stay for the harvest.’ His features brightened a slightly. ‘Dante says maybe we can next year.’
‘You’ve become his hero,’ Taylor accorded quietly as they entered the lobby and began ascending the stairs behind Ben, who was in need of the customary siesta.
‘But not yours,’ Dante alluded indolently.
She sent him a speaking glance before quickening her steps to reach the upper level, and she deliberately refrained from casting him a further glance as she accompanied Ben to their guest wing.
While Ben napped, she settled cross-legged on her bed and opened her laptop, working until Ben woke, after which they checked on the mother cat and her kittens, then together they played handball, throwing and dribbling it, laughing as one of the dogs decided to join in the game.
It was there Dante found them, and he stood watching for a few minutes, a smile curving his mouth as Taylor called ‘not fair’ when Ben threw the ball high, and she laughed as he scrambled to get to it before she did.
‘Foul!’ This from Ben, when she snagged the ball, turned and ran with it…and hit a solid mass.
Human, she registered as hands took hold of her shoulders and steadied her.
There was a brief moment when the breath huffed from her body, an apology escaping her lips, then she stilled as she realised who held her.
Ben raced forward to join them. ‘Dante! Are you going to play ball with me and Taylor?’
‘Two against one?’ Dante posed. ‘I think I can manage that.’
He did, admirably, but he also let them win, and Ben punched the air as the score tipped by one point in his and Taylor’s favour.
; ‘Game over,’ Taylor called as she reached for the band holding her hair, automatically pulling it free before bunching the length together and deftly tying it back into a pony-tail.
Dante hadn’t even broken a sweat, Taylor perceived as he ruffled Ben’s hair.
‘Go indoors and have a cool drink,’ he bade with a smile. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
‘If Taylor comes with me, can I have a swim in the pool?’
‘Of course. But only if Taylor is with you.’
‘I know,’ Ben reassured happily.
It made for a pleasant end to the afternoon, as Ben proudly displayed his swimming prowess in the large pool beneath its enclosure of tinted glass.
Afterwards they showered separately in the adjoining bathing room, then, dressed, they retreated upstairs to view television until it was time to change and go down for dinner.
CHAPTER NINE
THAT day set a precedent for the days which followed.
Dante took Ben with him each morning, while Taylor set up her laptop in the library. Mostly, she extended her writing while Ben rested after lunch, and their afternoons were spent at play, swimming, together with an hour in Graziella’s company as she taught her grandson the rudiments of the Italian language.
There was nothing to pre-warn more than a week after their arrival at the villa that the day would prove any different from the ones preceding it.
It was an urgent call during lunch for Graziella which absented her from the table for several minutes, and she returned displaying visible distress.
Dante rose to his feet at once. ‘There’s a problem?’
‘My sister Bianca,’ Graziella relayed with concern, ‘has been admitted to hospital, and is scheduled to have surgery late this afternoon.’ She cast him a look of despair. ‘I must go to her.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed at once. ‘I’ll have Lena help you pack, then I’ll drive you home.’ He pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘But first, finish your lunch.’
Except it seemed beyond her, and Taylor felt the need to ask, ‘Is there anything I can do?’
Graziella shook her head. ‘No, my dear. Thank you.’ She leant forward and pressed a hand to Ben’s shoulder. ‘We’ll see each other soon. A few days, perhaps.’
‘Sì, Nonna.’
A faint smile curved her lips. ‘Bravo,’ she complimented. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’
Fifteen minutes later Taylor and Ben stood at the front entrance and waved as the four-wheel-drive eased away from the courtyard with Dante at the wheel.
Dinner was a quiet meal shared only with Ben, followed later by his bedtime story. Taylor waited until he fell asleep before she retrieved her laptop and retreated to the library for a few hours.
Too many, she recognised close to midnight as she lifted her arms high in a stretch meant to ease the tension in her shoulders.
She dared not risk more coffee, or she’d be too wired to sleep…but a further half-hour should enable her to piece together the current scene, then she’d go to bed.
The internal lighting throughout the hallways had dimmed down via automatic timer when Taylor emerged from the library, and her steps faltered as she entered the main lobby and saw Dante cross towards the stairs.
He caught sight of her, and paused, waiting for her to join him, and her grip on the laptop tightened involuntarily as she drew close.
‘Working late?’
She looked tired, her eyes too large in her face, and her hair looked as if she’d run fingers through it on a regular basis.
‘Yes.’
Her voice sounded slightly husky, and he had the sudden urge to ease the faint frown from her forehead, sweep back the hair from her face and turn the slight wariness there into something else.
Beneath the surface of her control there was passion…and existent was a desire to break the ice encasing her emotions, to stoke the heat to fire. For the fire existed, he was sure.
Experience, honed and refined, had taught him that strategy brought the prize. He just needed to exert patience, and he had that.
Yet there was knowledge that if he followed his instincts, he’d lift her into his arms and carry her to bed. His. Undress her, then make slow leisurely love until she was consumed by passion, body and soul. Cradle her close and hold her through what remained of the night…then stir her into an erotic waking at first light.
Instead, he’d be content with less…for now.
‘Graziella?’ Taylor queried with polite interest, and the need to say something, anything to dispel the emotional tension that seemed to encapsulate them both.
‘Her sister’s surgery is successful, and Bianca is expected to fully recover.’
‘I’m glad,’ she said simply. Go, a tiny voice silently urged. Now. Except she stood still, momentarily unable to move.
Then it was too late as he framed her face with his hands and brushed his lips against her own, then he deepened the kiss until a groan of protest sounded in her throat had him easing back.
For a long moment Taylor could only look at him, unaware of the tremulous movement of her slightly swollen mouth, the stark darkness in her eyes.
His lips curved a little in a soft smile as he gently relinquished his hands from her face. ‘Go to bed,’ he bade quietly, ‘before I’m tempted to take you to mine.’
Shock, and something else, was a fleeting, barely evident emotion, then it was gone, as without a further word she moved round him and quickly ascended the stairs, her breathing only settling upon reaching the sanctuary of her suite.
Graziella’s absence from the villa became more noticeable at mealtimes, when her presence provided a welcome buffer in more ways than one.
Ben didn’t appear to notice Taylor’s marked effort to slip easily into innocuous conversation during lunch and dinner. Breakfast proved a breeze, as she shared the meal with Ben out on the terrace each morning, then when Dante came up from the fields to fetch Ben she habitually collected a second cup of coffee in one hand, her laptop in the other, and retreated to work in the library.
Soon their sojourn at the villa would end, and they’d return to Graziella’s apartment in Florence. Preceding, inevitably, their flight to Sydney.
There was a part of her that missed the familiar…especially the opportunity to meet Sheyna for coffee and a chat.
Yet there was something about the villa and vineyard which pulled at her emotions, knowing she would feel a little sad to leave…and pleased whenever Dante suggested they return.
Which brought the future vividly to mind…a subject Dante broached a few evenings later as they emerged from Ben’s room after settling him to sleep.
‘Shall we head down to the library?’
Taylor spared him a glance. ‘Together?’
He offered her a slow smile. ‘Is that a problem?’
Yes. ‘No, of course not.’
They reached the head of the stairs and began to descend.
‘Ben is fine,’ she endorsed with genuine pleasure, and a wide smile curved her generous mouth. ‘It’s been wonderful for him here.’
‘I agree.’
He opened the library door and ushered her inside, then he crossed to the desk, leant one hip against its edge and fixed her with an unwavering scrutiny.
‘There are certain legalities required for a civil marriage ceremony in Italy.’ His voice was quiet, almost silky, and she felt her heart leap into her throat.
She lifted a hand in a silent entreaty to stop…looking at him carefully, noting the leashed strength apparent, eyes that were dark, almost still as she met and held his gaze.
‘I don’t recall agreeing to marriage.’
‘You would be content with a relationship without the formality of a marriage certificate?’
‘We don’t have a relationship.’
‘What would you call it, Taylor?’ He paused, then went in for the kill. ‘You think I don’t know how you react in my arms when I kiss you? That I can’t sense your body tremble ben
eath my touch? Feel the rapid beat of your heart? Know,’ he reiterated quietly, ‘that you, as I do, need the fulfilment of sexual intimacy.’
She swore she stopped breathing, then her body’s natural mechanism forced her to gulp in air.
‘So…what is it to be? The furtive or open sharing of a bed? Or do we legalise the union?’
It wasn’t as if the whole marriage thing hadn’t consumed her mind during waking hours and intruded into her dreams from the moment he’d introduced the subject. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you.’
‘Sleep being a euphemism for sex?’ There was a glimmer of humour existent in his voice. ‘You want me to disprove that statement?’
She had no doubt he could, all too easily, up to a certain point.
The pertinent question being whether she could relax sufficiently to overcome the underlying fear that had remained with her for almost two years.
Better to tell him now, she rationalised, than say nothing and freeze up at the inappropriate moment…or worse.
‘There’s something you should know.’ She closed her eyes, then opened them again. A slight hysterical sound threatened to emerge, and she bit it back…caught the darkness in his eyes, then she lifted her head a little and held his gaze.
‘I have an issue with intimacy.’ There, she’d said it. She took in a deep breath, then followed with the basic facts of her assault and kept it brief. Very brief.
Dante’s expression didn’t change, but anger simmered beneath the surface as he recalled vividly the night she’d cried out in the throes of a nightmare. A nightmare which obviously had its base in reality.
‘How badly were you hurt?’
Scars, she had a few of those, faded now. Fractured ribs, a fractured hip, two fractured fingers. Taylor managed a light shrug. ‘I survived.’
He watched the fleeting emotions chase across her features, glimpsed the faint edge of remembered pain. ‘Were you hospitalised?’
His voice was surprisingly gentle, and it made her want to cry. Something she refused to do in his presence.
The Italian's Ruthless Marriage Command (HQR Presents) Page 10
