The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage Page 9

  He knew how to use his tongue to tease and excite her, flickering it skilfully against the tender inside of her mouth, sending shivers of delight through her, then slowing, leashing himself back and her too, to her frustration.

  ‘How dare you!’ she said in a shaking voice. She was furiously angry with him for forcing this on her, and even angrier that he had stopped when her pleasure was building.

  He didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. His face was dark, troubled, his eyes fixed on her as though asking some question that she didn’t understand. One hand moved slowly up her arm to her shoulder, her neck, the fingers entwining into her hair before he dropped his head to renew the assault.

  Now her arms were free, and she could push him away, except that she lacked the will. His mouth drifted over her face, bestowing teasing kisses everywhere until he reached the tender place just beneath her ear, almost as though he knew that she was unbearably sensitive just there. She took a shuddering breath at the sweet, whispering sensation that trailed down her neck to her throat, then further to the swell of her breasts.

  There was no chance to pretend now. He would sense the mad beating of her heart beneath his lips. He’d challenged her to fight him but she couldn’t fight the need of her own flesh that made her raise her hands, not to fend him off, but to clasp them about his head, drawing it closer. She was afire, craving more sensations that she’d never felt before with such totality. For perhaps the first time in her life she was living brilliantly, urgently in the present, and it was electrifying. A moan broke from her and she arched against him.

  She felt him stiffen and become totally still. He raised his head, shaking it a little, as though wondering what was happening, then fixed his gaze on her face. She almost cried out at his expression. There was no triumph, as she’d expected, only a kind of torment.

  ‘Marco-’

  ‘If I ever catch you doing this with any other man,’ he said hoarsely, ‘I’ll-I’ll-’

  She waited for him to finish, hearing his urgent, rasping breath and the thunder of her own heart. This was a new and bewildering Marco, tortured by some violent emotion that was close to destroying him.

  ‘You’ll do what?’ she whispered at last.

  A shudder went through him. ‘No matter.’ His grip slackened and the blazing look went out of his eyes, leaving them strangely dead.

  She clung to the furniture, feeling the world still rocking beneath her. ‘Perhaps it does matter,’ she suggested.

  ‘It does not,’ he said harshly, ‘because this is now closed. I apologise for alarming you.’

  ‘Marco-’

  ‘You have my word that it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Marco!’

  She was looking at a closed door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I N THE early morning light Harriet awoke suddenly and sat up, listening to the silence. Slipping out of bed she went to the tall window and pushed it open, looking out onto the quiet countryside, dotted with pine trees.

  The memory of last night still seemed to live in every part of her, mind, heart and body. She’d seen a side of Marco she’d never dreamed of. She’d known that he was full of contradictory qualities, that he could be charming, seductive, calculating and ruthlessly determined. But she hadn’t known that he could be dangerous. She knew now. For the few moments that he’d held her in his arms, forcing bruising, desperate kisses onto her, the air had crackled with danger, and she had felt alive as never before. It was shocking, but it was true.

  She tried to call common sense to her aid. Whatever tumult of feeling she’d thought she detected, the truth was that Marco had been trying to prove a point. She’d made a fool of him and he wouldn’t stand for it. He’d reclaimed her in front of their guests, but pride had driven him to give her a demonstration of power when they were alone. He’d wanted to show her that he could fire her with such passion that she was his, whether she liked it or not.

  And he’d succeeded. She knew now what his touch could do to her. The lightest caress could melt her so that she could think only of more caresses, and more…

  But his own thoughts were different, she guessed, summoning his face to her mind and trying to read his eyes. He wanted to show her that, while he wouldn’t allow himself to become hers, she had no choice but to be his. In the cold light of day there was no more to it than that.

  But the light of day wasn’t cold. As she raised her eyes to Rome’s distant hills she could see the golden glow of the rising sun.

  It was nearly six in the morning. Marco, the early-rising banker, would be up by now and she needed to hear his voice. But his phone was switched off and when she called his apartment she was answered by a machine. She didn’t leave a message. How could she when she didn’t know what she wanted to say?

  She needed to be outdoors. Hastily throwing on jeans and a sweater she slipped down the stairs and into the grounds. For a while the trees pressed close together and she was able to get away from the house, moving down winding paths that led in several directions.

  That was her life now, moving along winding paths to a destination she no longer knew. A voice inside warned her to go home, but there was a bittersweet ache in her heart that said stay. She was a mass of confused feelings, and she couldn’t have said where she wanted her path to lead.

  She came to a small lake and began to stroll along the edge of the water, relishing the beauty of the day. The morning mist had vanished, the light was fresh, and the sound of birdsong rose in the clear air.

  Where was he?

  Then she saw something that made her stop and catch her breath. A man was sitting on the ground against a tree, one arm flung across his bent knee, still in the clothes he’d worn last night, but for his jacket which had been tossed aside. His shirt was open halfway down, and the way his head was flung back against the tree showed the strong, brown column of his neck, and the thick curly hair that covered his chest.

  Dropping down quietly beside him Harriet saw that his eyes were closed and he breathed heavily as though sleeping. For once all tension was drained away from his features, the mouth softened, gentle, as though it had never said a harsh or bitter word. She knelt there awhile, watching his unshaven face, the hair falling over his forehead and the dark shadows beneath his eyes, feeling a tenderness he’d never inspired in her before. She knew he would hate the idea of being studied like this, while he was vulnerable and unaware, but she lingered one more moment-just one more-

  He opened his eyes.

  Instead of being angry he surprised her again, simply sitting motionless, gazing at her so long that she wondered if he actually saw her. At last the dazed look faded from his eyes, replaced by a helpless pain.

  ‘You still speaking to me?’ he said at last.

  She nodded. There was a lump in her throat.

  He sighed and dropped his head onto the arm across his knee. ‘That’s more than I deserve,’ he said in a muffled voice. He raised his head. ‘I guess I had too much to drink.’

  ‘I didn’t see you drinking very much.’

  ‘You weren’t there to see-’ he checked himself with a shrug. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Have you been out here all night?’

  ‘Since I left you, yes.’

  ‘I thought you were going home.’

  ‘I had to get away from you, but I couldn’t leave you, if that makes any sense.’

  It made perfect sense. Since he’d stormed out last night she’d felt a persistent tug in her heart, as though it was connected to his by an invisible thread. Now she knew that he had felt it, too.

  She sat down properly beside him, took one of his cold hands and began to rub it. He let her, seemingly too drained to react, but his eyes were on her hand, minus the ring.

  ‘I haven’t looked for it yet,’ she explained. ‘It could be anywhere in that big room. Suppose we never find it?’

  His answer was the faintest possible shrug. After a moment his fingers moved to grasp hers. ‘Ar
e you all right?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Did I-hurt you?’

  It was there again; the force of his mouth against hers, bruising, crushing, driving her wild with its ruthless persistence: the feelings still lived in her flesh, excitement, alarm, the joy of risk-taking, never known before.

  ‘No, you didn’t hurt me,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure? I have a hellish temper, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You weren’t trying to hurt me.’

  ‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘No, I was trying to make you aware of me.’ His mouth quirked faintly at the corner. ‘When I was a child I used to cope with frustration by roaring at the top of my voice. Then people listened.’

  ‘Yes, I think I would have guessed something like that,’ she said gently.

  ‘Time I grew out of it, huh?’

  ‘People don’t stop being the way they are. You don’t frighten me.’

  ‘Thank God! Because that’s the last thing I’d ever want. Please Harriet, forget everything about last night.’

  ‘Everything? You mean-?’

  ‘Every last damned thing,’ he said emphatically. ‘Go to Manelli’s house whenever you like. There’ll be no more trouble, I promise. What’s past is past. It was a kind of madness, no more.’

  ‘But Marco, what got into you? It wasn’t drink, I know that.’

  ‘I can’t explain, but there are some things I’m not-rational about. Let’s just say that I get jealous easily. And possessive. It’s not nice. I apologise.’

  ‘You have nothing to be jealous about.’

  ‘I know. But there are things I can’t forget.’

  ‘About the other woman, the one you were going to marry?’

  He stirred. ‘What do you know about her?’

  ‘Not much. You were engaged, then you both changed your mind.’

  A long silence, then he said as though the words were dredged up from some fearful depths. ‘It was a little more complicated than that.’

  ‘Break ups aren’t usually completely equal,’ she suggested tentatively.

  He nodded. ‘Something of the kind. Whatever! It makes me act unreasonably, and I’m sorry.’

  She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, thinking that she’d never in her life seen a man so unhappy.

  ‘When you find the ring,’ he said wearily, ‘will you wear it again?’

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If you leave now-so soon after last night-’ he gave a bark of laughter. ‘That’ll give the gossips something to talk about. And also-’ he grew quiet again ‘-it would hurt my mother badly.’

  ‘I won’t leave-for the moment.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Suddenly he leaned forward, resting his head against her in an attitude of despondency, almost of despair, she thought. Her arms went about him and she held him close, longing to comfort him, but knowing that there was a part of him she still couldn’t reach. She dropped her own head, resting her cheek against his dishevelled hair, and tried to tell him, through the strength of her embrace, that she was there for him. She thought she felt his arms tighten about her, as though he’d found something he needed to cling to.

  They sat motionless while the warmth stole through her. Not the warmth of passion: something quite different and far more alarming. While they fought she could hold out against him, even in the face of her own desire. But his sudden vulnerability shook desire into a fierce longing to protect him that was suspiciously like love.

  Disaster! She hadn’t meant to love him, wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was a trap and she’d fallen into it before she knew it was there.

  Why couldn’t you have gone on driving me nuts? she thought. It was easier then. This isn’t fair.

  He stirred and she released him. He pushed back his hair, which immediately fell over his forehead again. ‘I suppose I look like a tramp?’

  ‘A bit,’ she said tenderly.

  He started to get up and winced. ‘I’m stiff!’

  ‘If you’ve been here all night I’m not surprised. Let me help.’

  He slipped an arm about her neck and got painfully to his feet, scooping up his leaf-stained jacket.

  ‘The ground’s damp,’ she said. ‘You could catch pneumonia like this.’

  ‘I used to sleep out a lot when I was a kid. Just over there in the woods, there’s a place where I’d make a camp and pretend I was an outlaw.’

  ‘Show me.’ She wanted to prolong this gentle time with him.

  ‘All right.’

  Still with his arm around her shoulders he guided her through the trees and up a steep slope to a clearing. ‘This is where I used to sleep out under the stars,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a wonderful view.’

  ‘Yes, “the enemy” couldn’t approach you unaware.’

  ‘Unless they came from above,’ she pointed out. ‘But I expect you posted sentries. How many of you were there?’

  ‘Just me. I used to envy Leo and Guido who were brothers and had each other. Actually they were separated when Guido was ten, and Uncle Francesco took him to live in Venice, leaving Leo in Tuscany. But I always thought of them as having each other.’

  ‘It’s a pity you didn’t have any brothers and sisters.’

  ‘My father died early, and Mamma never wanted to marry again.’

  ‘But surely you had some friends?’

  He shrugged. ‘At school.’

  But none for his fantasy life, she thought, pitying the lonely little boy. She thought of how much easier he was when surrounded by the rest of the boisterous Calvani family, like a man who would gladly be one of them, but always felt slightly apart.

  ‘You can see almost as far as Rome from this spot,’ he said. ‘At night I used to sit under this tree and watch the lights. Just here.’ He put his jacket on the ground and indicated for her to sit on it beside him.

  ‘You too,’ she said, making room for him.

  They sat quietly together as the light expanded and the sound of birdsong grew louder. His hand had found its way into hers.

  ‘This is a wonderful place,’ she said. ‘I can understand you wanting to come here often.’

  There was no answer, and she became aware of a weight on her shoulder. Turning, she found his head lying against her, his eyes closed again.

  Now she saw something else in his face. He was weary in a way that had nothing to do with missed sleep. Strain and tension had fallen away, but they left behind a bone-deep exhaustion that looked as if it had been there a long time, perhaps years.

  She’d never thought to pity Marco, but she pitied him now in a way that she didn’t entirely understand. But there would be time to learn about him, and reach out to the trouble deep within him. Gently she brushed the hair back from his forehead.

  He stirred and opened his eyes, looking straight into her smiling ones.

  ‘You fell asleep again,’ she said tenderly.

  ‘Yes-’ he sounded unsure of himself. ‘How long?’

  ‘Just a few minutes.’

  Then she saw the look that she’d dreaded, as though shutters had come down. Light faded from his eyes, leaving a deliberate emptiness as he withdrew back into the comfortless place within himself. He pulled away from her and got to his feet, not letting her assist him this time, but offering his own hand to help her up. She took it, rising so quickly that she almost lost her balance. He steadied her with his other hand on her arm, but didn’t draw her close, as he could so easily have done.

  With dismay she realised that it was all gone, the warmth and communication that had been there before. Now his eyes were watchful. Perhaps he was even more wary of her because he’d allowed her to draw near.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked, consulting his watch. ‘Past seven. I’ve got to be going. I’m sorry for putting all this onto you.’

  ‘I’m glad we talked,’ she said, seeking a way back to him. ‘I understand you better now.’

  He shrugg
ed. ‘What is there to understand? I behaved badly, for which I’m sorry. You’ve been very patient, but there’s no reason for you to put up with my moods. I won’t inflict them on you again.’

  She nearly said, ‘Not even when we’re married?’ but the words wouldn’t come. Everything that had seemed certain a moment ago had vanished into illusion. She no longer knew him.

  She made one last try. ‘Moods aren’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe people shouldn’t be polite all the time. I wasn’t very polite to you last night and you-’

  ‘Overreacted I’m afraid. But it won’t happen again. Now, can we leave it?’

  He rubbed his stubbled jaw. ‘I’d better get inside and put myself right. I don’t want my mother to see me like this. I’d prefer that you didn’t tell her.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  They walked back in silence. Within sight of the house he said, ‘Take a look first, and signal me if it’s clear. No, wait!’

  He grasped her arm and pulled her back into the trees as Lucia appeared at the rear door. Her voice reached them.

  ‘Who left this door unlocked? Surely it hasn’t been like this all night?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Harriet said, advancing so that Lucia could see her. ‘I opened it. I’ve been out for an early-morning walk.’

  She ran up the steps, kissed Lucia and drew her inside, chattering, apparently aimlessly, but actually manoeuvring her deep into the house. She resisted the temptation to look back, but she thought she heard the faint sound of footsteps going up the stairs.

  Half an hour later Marco joined them for breakfast, showered, impeccably dressed and apparently his normal self. He thanked his mother charmingly for the successful party and complimented Harriet on her successful debut in society. He made no mention of anything else.

  A few days later an invitation arrived to a party at the Palazzo Manelli.

  ‘We’ve never been invited there before,’ Lucia observed in surprise.

  ‘It’s Harriet he really wants, Mamma,’ Marco said. ‘She’s after his collection.’ He gave Harriet a brief smile. ‘This will make your name. Nobody’s ever been so privileged before. Of course we must accept.’