Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose Read online

  ‘I’m part English,’ he reminded her defensively. ‘That’s the part of me that’s useless. And you actually went out and took a course in Italian cookery—’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, for he had fallen silent abruptly.

  ‘Nothing. I just suddenly remembered how determined you are. That cooking school said you were their best pupil.’

  ‘When I want something I stop at nothing,’ she said lightly. ‘Ruthless and unprincipled, that’s me.’

  ‘I guess. Only it didn’t feel like ruthless and unprincipled. It felt like being spoiled rotten. I loved it.’

  ‘So did I,’ she said softly.

  ‘Only…’ he hesitated, then said, ‘Only I wanted to look after you, too.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I can’t just sit there with my feet up, being waited on by the little woman.’

  ‘Not unless you want the little woman to thump you over the head with a saucepan,’ she chuckled.

  ‘As you say. Sometimes I wanted you to put your feet up.’

  ‘Only sometimes?’

  ‘Just sometimes,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m enough of a chauvinist porker for that.’

  This time they laughed together, and reached the checkout in perfect accord.

  The goodwill lasted as they returned to her home and unpacked in her kitchen. In an ecstasy of helpfulness he volunteered to take Jacko out for the necessary walk.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured his canine friend. ‘I used to do this for Wicksy. I know the drill.’

  Celia was just getting ready to serve the first course when her menfolk returned.

  ‘The first course is cold,’ she said, ‘So that’s all right, but I wanted to wait until you were here before I put the light under the pans.’

  ‘Why? Is there something you want me to do?’ he asked, missing the note in her voice that would have warned him she was about to make some outrageous joke.

  ‘Just keep an eye on the lighted gas,’ she informed him solemnly. ‘Because—’ she moved closer and lowered her voice melodramatically ‘—I can’t see. I thought you knew that.’

  For a moment her innocent manner almost fooled him, then he gave a gasp of shock.

  ‘Celia, you little wretch!’ he exploded. ‘When will you stop doing that?’

  ‘Never,’ she cried, rejoicing as his hands clasped her shoulders and gave them a little shake. ‘If anyone else said it, it would be vulgar and insensitive, but I can say what I like. Oh, darling, your face!’

  ‘You don’t know what my face looks like.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do,’ she crowed. ‘I know exactly what it looks like. You’re thinking, How can she say a thing like that?’

  ‘That’s putting it very mildly. Oh, you—’

  His grip tightened, pulling her against him, and the next moment she felt what she had been scheming for the last few minutes—his mouth on hers, urgent and frustrated, just as she wanted it. His whole body was shaking with the desire he’d been controlling, and she rejoiced in the sensation of having him in her hands, in her arms, almost under her control.

  ‘You,’ he muttered, between raining fierce kisses on her face. ‘You—you—’

  ‘What about me?’ she asked, kissing and laughing together.

  ‘Just that you’re—Come here!’

  This time there was no way she could talk against the caressing pressure of his mouth. For too long she’d lived without the fulfilment that only he could give her, and now her body clamoured for him as achingly as her heart had done for months.

  Two nights ago they had come so close to finding each other again, but Sandro’s call had interrupted them. Now nothing would get in the way. Just before leaving the airfield she’d warned Sandro not to call her tonight, just as she’d previously warned—or perhaps promised—Francesco, she was ruthless and unprincipled in getting what she wanted.

  He was hers, and the time had come to make that clear. Her determination infused every movement of her swift fingers, finding buttons to undo, pulling his shirt out of his trousers, caressing his skin, inciting him with every skilful movement at her command while keeping her mouth against his and her tongue teasing him wickedly.

  ‘Celia,’ he gasped, ‘do you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘I do—Do you?’ she managed to gasp.

  ‘It’s too late to change your mind.’

  ‘Who’s changing her mind?’

  That was it. Now nothing could have stopped him. Scooping her up with more vigour than gallantry, he strode into her room and collapsed onto the bed with her in his arms. Undressing each other was difficult while they were so intricately entangled, but they managed somehow, working through the layers, getting in each other’s way, laughing exultantly, getting it wrong, getting it right, trying to control the mounting pleasure long enough to reach their goal, and finally reaching it with long sighs of satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured, half out of her mind with what she had wanted for so long and so hopelessly.

  The feel of having him inside her again was so good that she wondered how she’d survived so long without it. She moved strongly against him, seeking to repeat the first, unrepeatable sensation. She wanted to touch him all over at the same time—his arms, his neck, his wide shoulders and muscular torso. Then she wanted to slide her hands down the length of him to the narrow hips and long muscular thighs. In their frenzy of action all she could manage was to wrap her own thighs around him, enclosing him, drawing him deep into her body as she wanted him deep in her heart.

  They climaxed together almost at once, and continued without a pause, their desire barely touched, far from slaked. Other lovings had taught them that they could inspire each other for a long time before they were satisfied. But there had never been a loving like this.

  As he lay over her afterwards, looking down into her face, Celia had one of her rare moments of wishing for sight. She longed to see his face and find in it the tenderness she’d felt in his touch. But then he kissed her gently, and she knew that she had all she needed. He moved off her while still holding her in his arms, so that she was pulled over against him, heart to heart.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked softly, as he had always done before.

  Her answer was the same as then, a little sound of blissful content, for there were some emotions that no words could express. He responded by holding her closer and burying his face in her hair.

  ‘I was afraid I’d lost you for good,’ he said.

  ‘You couldn’t lose me,’ she murmured against his skin.

  She went on whispering incoherent words, wondering how it was possible to be so happy.

  Somewhere above her head he gave a brief laugh.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked at once.

  ‘I was remembering our first night together. I’d been trying to imagine what you wore underneath, and I’d decided it must be something practical, because you were so fiercely efficient.’

  ‘But it wasn’t practical at all, was it?’

  ‘No way. A satin thong that practically didn’t exist, and a satin and lace bra, all in brilliant scarlet.’

  ‘Did you disapprove?’

  ‘No, I loved it. I knew then that I’d underestimated you.’

  ‘You always did.’

  ‘And you’re wearing them again today.’

  ‘You mean, I was wearing them, don’t you?’ she teased.

  ‘Yes, I guess I do.’

  She smiled to herself. She’d never told him that she’d bought the sexy underwear after their first evening together, when she’d spent that lonely week, longing for him to return, determined to be ready for anything if he did. And when she’d set out for Naples, determined to reclaim him, it was the first thing she’d packed.

  For the moment she’d triumphed. Whatever their problems were they had faded to nothing. Perhaps she would remember them one day. Or perhaps not. It hardly seemed to matter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘DO YOU know w
hat we need now?’ Francesco asked sleepily.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Champagne. I don’t suppose you keep any?’

  ‘I might just have some,’ she said, carefully casual.

  In fact, she’d laid in a store of that, too, but there was no need for him to know that.

  They rose from the bed and stood for a moment leaning against each other, like two people who’d come to the end of a long and exhausting race and needed time to recover before enjoying the prize.

  Afterwards she donned a satin robe, while he pulled on his trousers and followed her into the kitchen where she produced the champagne and two glasses. He poured them both a glass, and they clinked.

  ‘I’ve just discovered I’m tired,’ he said.

  ‘That’s a pity, because I’ve got plans for you later.’

  ‘Have mercy, woman.’

  ‘Slacker,’ she jeered.

  ‘Not at all. But let’s stretch out on the sofa first.’

  They did so, with her sitting and him lying with his head on her leg.

  ‘I could stay like this for ever,’ he said blissfully.

  ‘Me, too.’

  ‘It’s how we used to be.’

  ‘And now we’ve got it back,’ she murmured. ‘How could we have been so careless?’

  ‘We never will be again. In future we’ll—’ he made a vague gesture ‘—discuss things rationally.’

  She chuckled. ‘Shall I give you lessons in that?’

  ‘Oi, cheeky!’

  ‘Rationally!’ she mocked. ‘You wouldn’t recognise rational discussion if it bopped you on the nose.’

  ‘OK, you may have to give me a few lessons, but we’ll get there. I’m not going to lose you a second time just because—Oh, hell!’

  The last remark was jerked from him by the ringing of the telephone.

  ‘If that’s Sandro, just let me speak to him for five seconds,’ Francesco begged.

  ‘It won’t be, I promise.’ Celia reached for the phone, which was on a small table at the end of the sofa. ‘Hallo? Ciao, Mario.’

  Suddenly she sounded pleased, and Francesco’s head rose from her leg in query.

  ‘Journalist,’ she mouthed. ‘He was there this afternoon.’

  ‘Then he should have talked to you this afternoon.’

  ‘He did. Mario, it’s not a good time…oh, I see…when’s your deadline? All right, just five minutes, as long as you promise me a great story. And Sandro, of course…he had a great time, so he told me afterwards…oh, yes, green with envy…my turn soon. But I may jump from a helicopter, or a balloon. That way we cover the whole range…yes, you can say that. And there’s one other thing—’

  After a few moments she hung up, aware that something had changed. It wasn’t just that Francesco’s head had vanished from her leg. The atmosphere was suddenly spiky and dangerous.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling for him.

  ‘You just said that to make a good story, right? About jumping? You’re not going to do that.’

  After a brief silence she said, ‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ Her voice was quiet, but suddenly it had an edge.

  ‘Cara, please! Let’s not go into this again. We said it would be different this time. You’ve had your fun. You’ve turned me white haired with fear often enough—’

  ‘Had my fun?’ she echoed, aghast. ‘Is that how you see it?’

  ‘I’ve heard you call it fun.’

  ‘Among other things. Sure, it’s fun, but that’s not why I live as I do. It’s because I won’t be pigeonholed as “disabled”—by you or anyone else.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, making a belated attempt to stop the world disintegrating a second time. ‘But you’ve done those things, and I’ve put up with—accepted it. Surely it’s time to—that is, we’ve talked and I thought you understood—’

  ‘You mean, you thought I’d given in,’ she said slowly.

  ‘I thought you’d seen reason—No, I didn’t mean that—’

  ‘Why not? It’s honest. I don’t mind you saying things like that. What I mind is your assumption that if I dare to disagree with you I’m off my head. Well, I do disagree, and it’s time you saw reason.’

  With disaster looming on the road ahead Francesco tried—he really tried—to avoid it. But stark terror was taking him over again, as so often in the past, making him forget everything he’d learned.

  ‘It isn’t reasonable for you to carry on like this,’ he snapped. ‘One day you’ll get killed. Am I supposed to just shrug and say, “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter?” If I protest it’s because I love you.’

  ‘But with you love becomes control,’ Celia cried. ‘It’s not just dangerous things, it’s everything. You never felt that I had the right to my own life.

  I won’t be treated as someone who can’t do what other people take for granted. Above all I won’t have you telling me what I can and can’t do. Oh, God, why are we talking like this—again?’

  Her voice rose to a shriek as the truth hit her. It struck him, too, in the same moment. Aghast, they regarded the ruin that had come upon them so suddenly.

  ‘Look,’ he said at last, ‘let’s forget this. We don’t know what we’re saying. Before the phone rang—’

  ‘We were living in a fool’s paradise,’ she exclaimed in despair. ‘But it couldn’t have lasted. This was always going to happen.’

  ‘I won’t admit that loving each other is a fool’s paradise,’ he said stubbornly.

  She gave a bleak little laugh. ‘It could be—for some people. Shouldn’t we just admit it?’

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. It’s like saying there’s no such thing as love.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just one of those things I can’t do the way other people do,’ she said bitterly. ‘Maybe you were right about that, and it’s time I listened. Diving in water or out of planes—fine! But a normal human relationship is beyond me—because it has to be on the terms I lay down, and they’re too harsh for other people. Or maybe just too selfish. After all, what have I said? That you’ve got to let me do what I want all the time? Even I can hear the selfishness in that, but anything else suffocates me.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said violently. ‘You’re not selfish. It’s just that I—Oh, let’s just forget it.’

  ‘How can we when it’s always there?’

  She turned away to hide the fact that she was beginning to cry, and he immediately reached out, trying to hold on to her.

  ‘Cara, please—’

  ‘Let me go.’

  She pulled herself out of his grasp and turned away, not heeding where she was going. The next moment she’d collided with the doorjamb and reeled back.

  ‘Celia—’

  ‘No, no. I’m all right.’

  ‘You’re not all right. Your lip’s bleeding. Come here.’

  She seemed ready to fight him, but then she gave up and let him lead her to the sofa and make her sit down.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I often bump into things.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t,’ he said in despair. ‘I’ve never seen it happen before. It was my fault. I’m so sorry—’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t push me. It was an accident. Francesco, please, please—why must you take every little thing to heart?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just that—’ He shook his head, as though by this means he could clear his confusion. ‘I’ve always been that way, but suddenly I became worse, and it’s grown out of control and made a monster of me.’

  ‘You’re not a monster,’ she hastened to say.

  ‘No, just a man it suffocates you to live with. And perhaps even I am beginning to see why. I guess I’ve turned into a bully again, haven’t I?’

  ‘Francesco, please, I never said you were a bully—’

  ‘Not tonight. But the last time—when we broke up.’

  ‘You remember that?’

  ‘I remember every word. I’m eve
n glad now that you said it.’

  ‘It was cruel and untrue—’

  ‘No, it was cruel and true. Which means it wasn’t cruel at all. It needed saying. You’d been thinking it for a long time and biting it back—’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Celia, carissima, you’ve always been honest to the point of brutality, and I mean that as compliment. Don’t weaken now. That night—when we came home after your dive and we quarrelled—you didn’t say bully like someone who’d just thought of it. You said it like someone who’d been suppressing it for ages. If there’s anything to regret, it’s that you didn’t say it before. We might have—‘

  He broke off. The thought was too painful to put into words.

  ‘Yes,’ she said huskily. ‘We might have managed better. Who knows?’

  In the silence he reached out his hand and touched her hair very gently. She turned her head at once, so that her cheek brushed his palm, and for a moment they stayed like that, aching with memory.

  He was almost sure that he felt a touch of moisture on his hand, but he didn’t ask if she were crying. He was afraid of breaking the spell.

  ‘Celia…’ was as much as he dared to say, in a voice no louder than a murmur.

  She raised her head so that she was facing him, and he couldn’t believe that she was blind. It was all there in her eyes—everything they’d had, everything they’d lost. And he knew that it must be in his own eyes, as well. She couldn’t see it, but surely she would know? Because she knew everything.

  He longed to comfort her, to promise that he’d make everything all right for her. But how could he when what was wrong was himself?

  He’d dreamed of finding a miracle, but now, reluctantly, he had to recognise that there were no miracles. The time had come to free her for the better life she would find without him.

  ‘Carissima,’ he said softly, ‘let us talk.’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Please, not yet.’

  So she knew. Of course she did. Perhaps she’d come to Naples for him, hoping that they might have a second chance. She’d never told him that, but a thousand things had made him hope. Now he knew hope was futile, and so did she.

  ‘Not yet,’ she repeated.

  ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Not yet. We can have a little more time.’