Читать книгу Rumours: The One-Night Heirs: The Innocent's Secret Baby (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs) / Bound by the Sultan's Baby (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs) / Sicilian's Baby of Shame (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs) - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 15

THIS WAS ROME.

He would have called for a car, but she hadn’t wanted to go to the front of the hotel and risk seeing Maurice.

And so Raul found himself in his first taxi for a very long time.

He would not be repeating it!

Still, it was worth it for the result.

He took her to Aventine Hill. ‘Rome’s seventh hill,’ he told her.

‘I know that,’ Lydia said. ‘We came past it on a bus tour.’

‘Who were you sitting with?’ Raul nudged her as they walked.

‘The teacher.’

‘They really hated you, didn’t they?’

But he put his arm around her shoulders as he said it, and it was something in the way he spoke that made her smile as she answered.

‘They did.’

And then they stopped walking.

‘This is the headquarters of the Order of the Knights of Malta,’ he told her. ‘Usually it is busy.’ But tonight the stars had aligned, for there was a small group just leaving. ‘Go on, then.’

‘What?’

And she waited—for what, she didn’t know. For him to open the door and go through?

They did neither.

‘Look through the keyhole.’

Lydia bent down and did as she was told, but there was nothing to see at first—just an arch of greenery.

And then her eye grew accustomed to the view and she looked past the greenery, and there, perfectly framed in the centre, was the dome of St Peter’s.

He knew the moment she saw it, for she let out a gasp.

It was a view to die for.

The soft green edging framed the eternal city and she bent there for a while, just taking it in.

It was a memory.

A magical one because it made Rome a secret garden.

Her secret garden.

By the time she stood there were others lined up, all waiting for their glimpse of heaven, and her smile told them it would be worth the wait.

Raul refused to be rushed.

‘Don’t you want a photo?’ he asked. Assuming, of course, that she would.

‘No.’

She didn’t need one to remember it.

Even if Raul took her back to the hotel now, it would still be the best night ever.

In fact if Raul were to suggest taking her back to the hotel she would wave the taxi down herself, for he was kissing her again—a nice one, a not-going-anywhere one, just sharing in her excitement.

He did not take her back yet.

They walked down the hill, just talking, and he showed her the tiny streets she would never have found. He took her past the Bocca della Verità sculpture—the Mouth of Truth—though he did not tell her the legend that the old man would bite off the hand of liars.

For perhaps she might test him.

Though Raul told himself he did not lie.

He just omitted certain information.

And he continued to do so, even when the opportunity arose to reveal it.

They were now sitting on a balcony, looking out to the Colosseum, and a waiter placed their drinks down on the table.

Cognac for Raul and a cocktail that was the same fiery orange as the sky for Lydia.

He didn’t assume champagne, as Bastiano had.

Like this morning at breakfast, she let her eyes wander through the menu selections.

She chose hers—he knew his.

Raul gave her choice at every turn, and that was something terribly new to Lydia.

Finally she had good memories of Rome.

‘Salute,’ Raul said, and they clinked glasses.

Wonderful memories, really.

It wasn’t the sight of the Colosseum that brought a lump to her throat but the fact that now there were candles and flowers on the table, and that at every turn Raul had surprised her with his ease and enjoyment.

He did not sulk, nor reluctantly trudge along and put up with things before taking her to bed.

Raul led.

But she must remember it could never—for her—be the City of Love.

Raul didn’t do love.

‘How did Bastiano take your leaving?’ Raul asked, and his question caught her by surprise, for her mind had long moved on from the hotel.

Raul himself had only just remembered the real reason he was there.

‘He was fine,’ Lydia replied. ‘Well, he was polite. I can’t blame him for being fed up—anyone would be, stuck with Maurice for the night.’

He was about to say that he doubted Bastiano would hang around anywhere he didn’t choose to be, but stopped himself.

For the first time since they had met Lydia looked truly relaxed. The conversation flowed easily, and quite simply he did not want to take the chance of ruining a very nice night.

But he did need to know more. And he did not need to delve, for a very at ease Lydia was now talking.

‘I know he can’t stand Maurice.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because Bastiano told me.’

She was stirring her drink and didn’t see the sudden tension in his features. It dawned on Raul that Bastiano and Lydia might already be lovers for all he knew.

‘There was a wedding at the castle one weekend,’ Lydia explained. ‘It was a very good one. Of course Maurice had been through the guest list, and he made a bit of a beeline for Bastiano. He’d found out that he’d converted an old convent into a retreat, and Maurice wanted to hear his thoughts on doing something similar with the castle.’

Raul gave a disparaging laugh, and Lydia assumed it was in reference to Maurice’s gall at approaching a guest.

But Raul was mocking Maurice’s ignorance—Bastiano would never part with his knowledge for free.

‘Bastiano wasn’t interested,’ Lydia said.

‘Maurice told you that?’ Raul checked.

‘No, Bastiano did.’ Lydia gave a soft laugh and looked out onto the street as she recalled that night. ‘I was serving drinks, and Bastiano made some comment about saving him from the most boring man… I laughed. I knew exactly who he was referring to. But then I felt guilty, as if I ought to defend my family, and so I told him that Maurice was my stepfather.’

And there was the difference between them. Raul felt no guilt in not admitting the truth.

Perhaps a slight niggle, but he easily pushed that aside.

‘You told Bastiano that Maurice was your stepfather?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ Lydia nodded. ‘Bastiano apologised and said he would speak with him again and pay attention this time.

‘And that was it?’ Raul checked.

‘Sorry?’ Lydia frowned.

‘That was all that happened between you two?’

She went pink.

‘Excuse me,’ Raul said. ‘That is none of my business.’

The thought, though, did not sit well with him.

But then she told him.

‘Just a kiss.’

She screwed up her nose as Raul breathed out in relief that they had never been lovers.

Then the relief dissolved and he loathed the fact that they had even shared a kiss.

‘Come on,’ he said, confused by the jealousy that arose in him. ‘It’s dark now.’

Oh, it was.

And busy and noisy.

It was everything Rome should be.

The Trevi Fountain had kept its promise, because she had made a wish to be back under better circumstances and now she was.

They walked for miles, and though the cobbled streets weren’t stiletto-friendly Lydia felt as if she were wearing ballet slippers—the world felt lighter tonight.

‘Where are we now?’ Lydia asked.

‘Citta Universitaria—my home for four years.’

‘I would have loved to have gone to university,’ Lydia said. ‘I wanted to study history.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I failed my exams.’

Another truth she rarely told.

She hadn’t decided to go straight into the family business, as her mother often said.

Lydia had failed all her exams.

Spectacularly.

‘I messed up,’ Lydia admitted.

She offered no reason or excuse although there were so many.

He knew that.

‘I had to repeat some subjects after my mother died,’ Raul told her. He rarely revealed anything, and certainly not his failings, yet it seemed right to do so now. ‘I hit the clubs for a while.’

His honesty elicited both a smile and an admission. ‘I wish that I had.’

‘I moved here from Sicily to study under great protest—my father wanted me to work for him. Filthy money,’ he added. ‘Anyway, after my mother died for a while I made it my mission to find out how wild Rome could be at night.’

‘Where in Si—’

‘I lived there,’ he said, pointing across the street.

She had been about to ask whereabouts in Sicily, Raul knew, but she had mentioned the convent a couple of times and perhaps knew its location. Certainly he didn’t want her knowing that he and Bastiano were from the same place. So he interrupted her and gave more information about himself than he usually would.

Raul pointed upwards and Lydia found herself looking at a hotel. It was far smaller than the one they were staying at, but it was beautifully lit and from the smart cars pulling up and the guests spilling out it seemed rather exclusive.

‘How could a student afford to stay in that hotel?’ Lydia asked.

‘It was flats back then. In fact they were very seedy.’

‘And then the developers came along?’

‘That was me.’

And she stared at a hotel—in the centre of Rome, for goodness’ sake—and found out that he owned it.

‘How?’

But Raul did not want to revisit those times.

‘Come on…’

It was late—after midnight—and he’d had enough of taxis to last a lifetime, and so, despite the hour, he texted Allegra and very soon a vehicle appeared.

It wasn’t a taxi!

She sat in the back and he climbed in and sat so he faced her.

It was bliss to sink into the seats. ‘My feet are killing me,’ Lydia admitted. ‘These shoes really weren’t made for walking.’

‘Take them off, then,’ Raul said, and he leant over and lifted her foot and placed it in his lap.

Lydia could feel his solid thigh beneath her calf, and though she willed herself to relax her leg was trembling as he started to undo the strap.

He ran his hand along her calf and found the muscle was a knot of tension. He worked it with deft fingers.

The muscle did not relax.

In fact it tightened.

And when her toes curled to his touch he placed her foot so that she could feel his desire for her.

She ought to tell him she was a virgin.

But she rather guessed that Raul wouldn’t find her innocence endearing.

His fingers continued to work on the tense muscle till it loosened. High in her thigh she contracted, and then he removed the sandal and lifted her naked foot.

‘Please don’t,’ she choked as he lifted it towards his mouth. ‘I’ve been walking…’

‘Dirty girl.’

He kissed the arch of her foot, and she tried again to pull away, but only because the wicked sensation his tongue delivered shot straight between her legs.

‘Raul…’ She pronounced it correctly for the first time—it simply rolled off her tongue. ‘Someone might see.’

‘They can’t see in.’

She could see, though.

For that moment Lydia felt as if she could see inside herself.

And she was…

The feeling was so unfamiliar it took a second for Lydia to recognise just what it was.

She was happy.

Just that.

‘We’re here,’ Raul said, and released her foot, and that tiny glimpse of carefree happiness was over.

Just like that.

For she saw him—Maurice—standing outside the hotel.

He was smoking a cigar and on his phone—no doubt to her mother.

‘We’ll use the side entrance.’

Raul went to the intercom to inform the driver, but her hand stopped him.

‘No.’

It was over.

The windows were dark and she knew that Maurice couldn’t see in—neither would he be expecting her to return in such a luxurious vehicle.

‘I need to face things.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Raul said.

And she looked at this man who chose not to get close enough to anyone to remember a birthday.

A man who did not live by the rules.

She did.

‘I think it would be better dealt with tonight. It might be a little more difficult to take the moral high road about Bastiano with my knickers in my purse.’

‘Lydia…’ Raul started, but then halted. He had no qualms over a one-night stand, but he conceded with a nod that she made a valid point.

‘Go and tell him to get the hell out of your life, and then come to my suite.’ He gave her the floor and the number, while knowing the night he had planned was gone. ‘Will you be okay?’

‘Of course I will.’ Lydia gave a scoffing laugh. ‘I’m twenty-four—he can hardly put me on curfew.’

‘Will you be okay?’ Raul asked again.

‘Yes.’ Lydia nodded. ‘This needs to be dealt with.’

It did.

He asked his driver to move a little way down the street, and in that space of time Raul did something he rarely did. He took out a card.

Not the one he generally gave out.

‘This is my number—you’ll get straight through to me. If there is any problem…’

‘There won’t be,’ Lydia said, but he opened her purse and put in the card.

This was it—both knew.

Though both hoped otherwise.

‘Remember what I told you this morning,’ Raul said, and she nodded.

He went to kiss her, but she moved her head to the side. It really wasn’t a turn-on, knowing that Maurice waited.

And she should never have let Raul take her shoe off, because now there was all the hassle of getting it back on.

And happiness seemed determined to elude her as she climbed out of the vehicle.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Maurice asked as she approached.

‘Out,’ Lydia snapped.

‘Your mother is worried sick,’ Maurice said as they walked briskly through the foyer, though he waited until they were in the elevator to say any more. ‘I’m trying to save your family’s business and you walk out on the one person who could help do just that.’

‘I came for a drink.’

‘He wanted to take us both to dinner. I’ve said to Bastiano that you’ll be there tomorrow.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have,’ Lydia retorted.

They got out of the elevator and Lydia headed for her suite. ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Don’t you walk away from me,’ Maurice told her. ‘You’ll be there tomorrow night, with a smile on, and—’

‘Maurice, why do I need to be there?’ She pointed out what Raul had this morning. ‘I don’t hold the deeds to the castle—my mother does. And I don’t actually like the idea of turning it into a retreat. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be there.’

‘You know there is.’

‘But why?’

Say it, Maurice, Lydia thought. Have the guts to voice it out loud.

‘Because Bastiano wants you.’

‘Then you need to tell him that I’m not part of the deal.’ Her voice was shaky. The truth, even if deep down she’d already known it, was actually very difficult to hear said out loud. ‘In fact you can tell Bastiano that, as of now, I no longer live or work at the castle.’

‘Lydia, he’s a charming man, he’s extremely wealthy, and he’s very interested in you.’

‘Well, I’m not for sale! I’ve told you—I’m leaving.’

‘And where are you going to go? Lydia, you’ve got no qualifications, no savings…’

‘Odd, that,’ Lydia responded, ‘when I’ve been living at home and working my backside off for the last six years.’

She was done, she was through, and she dug in her purse for her keycard and let herself into her suite.

Maurice knocked loudly.

Oh, my God.

She could not take even another night of this.

She didn’t have to, Lydia realised as she recalled Raul’s advice.

‘You can walk away from anyone you choose to and you don’t have to come up with a reason.’

She had many good reasons to walk, Lydia thought, and started throwing her possessions into her case.

‘Your mother is going to be very upset…’ Maurice called through the door, but he fell silent when it was opened and Lydia stood holding her case.

‘I’m leaving.’

‘What the hell…? Lydia…’

Lydia could see a bit of spittle at the side of his mouth, and she could feel his anger at her refusal to comply.

When she always had in the past.

For the sake of her mother Lydia would generally back down when things got heated—but for the sake of herself she now stood her ground.

It was as if the blinkers had been lifted, and she could now see the control and the pressure he exerted.

And she would play the game no more.

No, she could not save the castle and, no, she would not meekly comply just to keep his mood tolerable. She could almost feel the eggshells she had walked on dissolving beneath her feet.

She marched to the elevators and he followed. He reached for her as she reached the doors and suddenly she was scared.

Raul had been right to be concerned.

She was scared of Maurice and his temper.

Oh, she wasn’t running to Raul—she was running away from hell.

Maurice slapped her.

He delivered a stinging slap to her cheek and pulled at her hair, raised his other hand—but somehow she freed herself.

Lydia ducked into the elevator and wrenched the doors closed on his hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said. With the gate safely between them she spoke in a withering tone. ‘Now I know for a fact what an utter bastard you are.’

She did not crumple.

Lydia refused to.

And she refused to waste even a single tear.

She was scared, though.

Scared and alone.

And she would have run into the night.

Without Raul, absolutely she would have run.

But instead of going down Lydia pressed the elevator button that would take her to his floor.