Читать книгу In the Italian's Bed: Bedded for Pleasure, Purchased for Pregnancy / The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain / The Italian Count's Defiant Bride - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 13

DESPITE her mother’s theories, even in her art student days wild parties hadn’t been a regular feature on Emma’s agenda.

But waking in Zarios’s arms Emma got a taste of how it must feel to wake after a walk on the wild side. Every sin she had ever committed, and surely a few more to come, seemed to be laughing from the sidelines as she awoke in a strange bed, in the arms of the man she’d sworn away from.

‘What time is it?’ Zarios grumbled as she stirred awake beside him.

‘Are we still engaged?’ Emma winced, trying to do up the pieces of the jigsaw without the aid of a picture.

‘We are.’ His hot breath on the back of her neck somehow told her he was smiling. ‘And, yes, you do owe me an obscene amount of money.’

As she rolled over to face him she hoped, actually prayed, for a whiff of bad breath, for something horrible and nasty to greet her—but her prayers went unanswered. It was Zarios! Just as gorgeous as yesterday, except he seemed to have grown a beard overnight, morning shadow dense on his strong jaw. The other change in him was that for once he was smiling—this was a far more relaxed Zarios than the one she was used to seeing.

And though sensibly she knew she should recoil, there was this lovely mesh of legs…Such a mesh that Emma didn’t know where hers were, though she had a vague idea where his were, because she could feel the bit in the middle as it sort of rose to her groin to say good morning.

‘Morning.’ His eyes smiled their greeting just inches from hers. And she’d forgotten to notice his mouth—such a lovely soft, full lipped mouth—that was somehow on the same pillow…

‘Morning.’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ Zarios said.

‘You snore!’ Emma countered.

‘I don’t.’

He didn’t.

‘Why are beds so much more comfortable in the morning?’ Emma asked, after a few lovely moments of just lying there. ‘I mean, you spend half the night trying to get comfortable, but in the morning, when it’s time to get up…’

‘Don’t get up, then,’ Zarios said, nudging the duvet up around them with his shoulder and then promptly closing his eyes.

There was a strange fuzzy logic going on in her head—she could feel his tumescent manhood between them, felt so warm and safe lying with him. It would be so easy to accept the lazy kiss she knew was coming, so easy not to deny the fierce attraction that was undoubtedly between them—but at what cost?

The pain of losing him to Miranda had her rolling on her back. Emma stared at the ceiling, hearing the grumble of his sleepy protest. How much easier it would be for him, how much more pleasant it would make it for him, to have her on tap these two weeks. And how appalling for her it would be when it ended—to face once more the obstacle course of getting over him!

It was with that in mind that she hauled herself out of bed and headed for the shower.

‘How did you sleep?’ Rocco asked as Roula poured the coffee.

‘Very well!’ Emma answered politely, smiling into her cup at Zarios’s surly expression. He was clearly rattled that for once his impressive charm hadn’t worked.

‘So what are your plans today? You are going to get a ring?And then what, Emma? Will you be working, or…?’

‘Emma’s taking a break from work for a little while…’ Zarios answered for her. ‘Since her parents’ death her painting hasn’t been going well. She needs a break.’

‘Good!’ Rocco nodded. ‘What about you, Zarios? You are in Melbourne this week, Singapore the next…You could do some shopping…’ He smiled fondly at Emma, but again Zarios had it all worked out.

‘We have the ball in Sydney. Emma will be preparing for that.’

‘And then the board meets…’ Rocco’s eyes narrowed just a fraction as he looked over to his son, and for that fleeting moment Emma was sure he had worked their scam out. ‘I spoke to your mother last night, Zarios.’

‘You called her?’ His words were like pistol shots, the ambient mood at the table suddenly plunging. ‘Why?’

‘Our son is getting engaged—it is right that she is told.’

‘She lost her right to be informed thirty years ago.’ Incensed, he stood up. ‘Why would you do that? Why would you even think to call her?’

‘Actually, I didn’t call her,’ Rocco responded calmly. ‘Your mother called me. You know she has been calling for the last few months…’

‘Since she found out you were sick!’ Zarios sneered. ‘Can’t you see what she is doing?’

‘Is it impossible for you to believe she might regret what happened?’

‘Yes,’ came Zarios’s curt reply.

‘She wants to ring you tonight—to congratulate you herself.’

‘Tell her not to bother.’

You need to forgive your mother, Zarios.’

‘It’s rather hard without even an apology from her,’ Zarios said, standing up. ‘Come,’he called over to Emma as he strode out of the room, ‘we have to get going…’

‘I thought you were staying the weekend?’ Rocco said.

‘I’m not staying to watch you being made a fool of—and I have nothing to say to your ex-wife!’

Rocco gave Emma a tight smile at the fading sound of Zarios climbing the stairs.

‘It must be hard for him.’

‘She has never had more children, and she has never settled down. She hates herself for what she did, but she was ill…. Am I a fool, Emma?’ Sad, tired eyes searched Emma’s for an answer she simply couldn’t give. ‘Am I a fool to believe she might actually be talking to me now because she cares?’

‘I’ve never met her…’ Emma said helplessly. ‘Only you can answer that, Rocco.’

‘You’d better go.’ Rocco kissed her on the cheek, as he always did, then cuddled her for a moment. ‘He does need to forgive her, Emma. And not just for my sake—it is not good for him to carry so much hate in his heart. Talk to him…’

Which was an impossible task.

Any closeness that had been captured in the night had long since faded. Zario was driving back into the city as if the devil himself were chasing them, in absolutely no mood for a pep talk. Though she did try!

‘He was right to tell her. I mean, if your father does believe we’re really engaged, then of course he was right to tell her!’

‘I don’t give a damn what he told her,’ Zarios cursed loudly, his hand lifting off the steering wheel as if he were swatting a fly. ‘It is that he is even talking with the puttana…’ He stared over at her appalled expression. ‘You think I should not talk of my mother like that?’

‘Yes! And I also think you’re being a bit hard on your father.’

‘You do, do you?’

They were sitting at traffic lights, Zarios beating a restless tune on the steering wheel, only talking again when the lights turned green and they were moving again.

‘My father did what he had to do. There was no work in his village, and he had no family in Australia to help with me. I accept why he left me in Italy. But that woman he calls my mother…’ Zarios shook his head. ‘She has never been a mother, and it’s too late to start now—way too late to start playing happy families just because my father is now sick. If he cannot see she is using him, then I am only too happy to point it out!’

‘He deserves to be happy…’

‘Emma!’ Zarios snapped. ‘If you were my real fiancée perhaps your opinion would be warranted. Unwelcome,’ he added, ‘but possibly warranted. But, given that you’re not…’

They were pulling up outside The Casino, a valet parker making his way over, and Emma felt herself shrink into the seat.

‘Why are we here?’

‘To find you a ring,’ Zarios answered, watching her closely as he spoke. ‘To sort out your clothes and get your hair styled—we can do all that here. Is there a problem?’

Her heart was fluttering in her chest, her eyes wide as she watched the flurry of activity in the foyer. The Casino was a jewel in Melbourne’s crown, hugging the Yarra River, and filled with lavish restaurants, designer boutiques and exclusive jewellers. And it was positively the last place Emma wanted to be. On many occasion she’d spent endless hours searching the gaming rooms there for Jake. Despite his alleged clean slate, still deep inside Emma couldn’t relax—couldn’t help wondering if Jake was here now, creating more debts.

‘Do you have a problem being here, Emma?’ There was an edge to Zarios’s voice that she didn’t understand.

‘Of course not…’ Emma tried to keep her voice light as her car door was opened, but knew she’d failed.

Zarios certainly made heads turn.

As they walked through the humming foyer, Emma could feel the glare of the spotlight his mere presence created. His aura caused people to frown as they tried to place him, or just to take a long, lingering look at a truly impressive specimen of man. Not that Zarios seemed to notice the stir he created. He merely dispatched Emma to a very exclusive beauty salon and had the nerve to tell the beautician what he was hoping she could achieve.

‘Can I leave you here, then?’

Emma shot him a withering look. ‘Tell me a time to meet you and I’ll be there.’

‘We will meet here,’ Zarios said. ‘And if you do finish early, please try and restrain yourself.’

She had no idea what he was talking about—just slipped into a gown while he went off and did whatever it was that people like Zarios did. Emma sat while her straight blonde hair was shot through with layers and caramel foils added. Then, when her hair was deemed suitable, her complexion that had been so ravaged these past weeks, from sleepless nights and too much crying, was given the attention it craved, along with the mammoth task of getting rid of the bags under her eyes.

Gone!

Staring in the mirror, waiting for Zarios, Emma could only marvel. Weeks of pain had been wiped away. Her hair was glossy and shiny, with chunky, angular layers giving it an up-to-date edge. The perfect hair and new make-up gave her a sophisticated air that belied the terrified, grieving child inside.

Zarios didn’t comment when he came to collect her—his mood clearly hadn’t improved, and neither had Emma’s. She felt like a puppy being picked up from the kennel.

Humiliatingly, he paid the bill and then led her downstairs to a very exclusive jeweller, which looked, to Emma’s untrained eyes, to be closed.

Zarios pushed on the intercom and growled out his name. It was clearly the abracadabra word, because the thick black glass doors parted.

‘Mr D’Amilo…’ A suited gentleman greeted them politely, ushering them to waiting chairs. An assistant entered with two glasses of champagne and an arrangement of chocolates, before the serious business of choosing a ring began. Emma hesitantly tried a couple on with the encouragement of the jeweller, as Zarios sat drumming his fingers on his thigh as he did when he was bored.

‘They’re all beautiful…’ Emma gulped. ‘What do you think?’ Her eyes turned to his, silently pleading with him for some help, but his uninterest was embarrassingly apparent, causing Emma to flush in front of the jeweller.

‘Does that one fit?’ Zarios pointed to the one she was wearing.

‘Don’t worry about size—’ the jeweller began, but Zarios’s mind was already made up.

‘I think my fiancée has chosen.’

He didn’t even have to hand over his credit card! Zarios, Emma was fast realising, lived in the world of the seriously rich, where no money or signature was either exchanged or required. No doubt an invoice would be sent somewhere and dealt with by somebody.

As they stepped out Emma could feel tears stinging her eyes. Rather than letting them fall, she sniffed loudly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Zarios said irritably.

‘Could you have made it any more obvious in there?’ Emma sniffed again, then checked herself.

‘Made what obvious?’

‘That we’re not a couple—that we don’t…It doesn’t matter.’

‘Clearly it does,’ Zarios observed, then stopped walking, turning to face her. But they were blocking an aisle, and Zarios moved her out of the current to the entrance of a shop. ‘How do you want me to be?’

‘I’m just saying that in public…’

‘Am I not affectionate enough for you?’ There was a dangerous glint to his eyes.

‘It’s not that.’ His face was so close she could barely breathe, her thought processes dizzied by his proximity.

‘Would you rather I was more demonstrative?’

‘No!’ Emma shrilled. ‘But if we are going to pretend, then at least you could look as if you care…’

‘You confuse me, Emma.’ His face was coming nearer so she backed away, leaning against the shop window. She was confused herself as to what it was she was saying, what it was that she wanted, but Zarios was rapidly enlightening her! ‘You tell me to leave you alone, you dress like a gypsy for bed—and you certainly didn’t want my attentions this morning—but now, suddenly, when I am observing your wishes, you accuse me of not being demonstrative enough.’

‘We’re supposed to be engaged…’ Emma swallowed. ‘We’re supposed to look as if we’re in love. Yet you snapped your fingers at me in the hairdressers, you couldn’t have been less interested in the choice of ring, and you didn’t even hold my hand!’ Oh, what was the point? Shaking her head, she went to stalk off—but now he caught her hand and held it.

‘Is that better?’

‘No!’ She stared down at their entwined fingers, at the obnoxiously large ring that had been placed there in the name of business only, unable to hold the tears back. ‘I’m ashamed enough by what we’re doing, even though I have my reasons for doing it…’ There was a stoicism about her, despite the tears. ‘But I’m not that good an actress, Zarios. If my real fiancé ever treated me or spoke to me in that way, I’d walk!’

‘Fair enough!’ For once it wasn’t a flip comment. ‘You’re right—it does not look good—and for what it’s worth, if you were my real fiancée, I’d expect you to walk…Hey…’ he added as her tears fell further. ‘My fiancée crying in the street is not a good look either.’ But there was almost a smudge of kindness hidden in his pompous voice.

‘They’re tears of joy!’ The irony of her words actually eked a smile from his haughty face. ‘Just don’t treat me like a lapdog…’ Emma sniffed ‘…don’t embarrass me further than I already am.’

He loosened his grip from her hand and with the pads of his thumbs wiped away the tears on her cheeks so tenderly it almost felt as if he meant it.

‘Is that better?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’ Zarios checked.

‘Quite sure.’

‘And if I did embarrass you in there…’ his mouth lowered to hers, kissing her clamped unmoving mouth slowly and very, very surely as she stood there rigid ‘…then I was wrong.’ He moved his face away just a fraction. ‘I will remember to behave better in public next time.’

He was still just as appalling in private, though.

He ignored her request to stop at her flat and grab some things. ‘You don’t need them—you have nice things now!’ Zarios said, pinging open the car boot once they had slid into the forecourt of a luxury five-star hotel.

‘Where are we?’

‘Home.’

She felt like a beggar girl as boxes and bags were hauled out of the boot by the bellboys, and King Cophetua led her by the hand briskly though the lobby, where they were whizzed to the Presidential Suite.

‘You live here?’

‘Sometimes,’ Zarios said, dropping his jacket as he did so, and kicking off his shoes as he walked. He stretched out on the settee in the lounge, flicking a remote control. Instead of the television coming on, the drapes lifted to reveal the most stunning view out over the city and beyond to the bay. ‘I divide my time between many cities. It makes sense to stay in hotels rather than maintaining several homes.’

Of all the surprises Zarios had thrown at her this was the one, however unwitting, that shocked her the most. Oh, it was luxurious—Emma had never stayed at such an exclusive hotel before, let alone in the Presidential Suite. At every turn it screamed luxury, and as she wandered through, Emma tried to take the details in: the deep sofa, the six-seater oak dining table with a lavish Australian native flower arrangement. The master bedroom was vast, opening into a sparkling marble bathroom, with racks lined with fluffy white towels, two robes hanging on the door just begging for someone to step into them—even soft white slippers patiently waited outside the luxurious two-person shower. Back she wandered, frowning as she realised there was even a small butler’s kitchen, and the gnawing disquiet she felt multiplied as Zarios flicked through the room-service menu.

Staring out of the window, she saw Port Phillip Bay stretched like a horseshoe, and her eyes scanned the familiar landmarks that lined it: Brighton Pier, then along to Mentone, and ever on till they came to rest, as they always did, on the gorgeous tip at the end that seemed to be reaching out to embrace Queenscliff. The jagged edge that contained within it her family home.

This wasn’t, as first she had thought, Zarios’s home within a hotel.

This—despite its luxurious furnishings, despite the impressive artwork that lined the walls—was just a hotel room. A room that when Zarios left would be painstakingly prepared for the next well-heeled guest to stay.

Emma’s eyes were so thick with tears that she could hardly make out her home now—but even if it was being sold in two weeks, even if her parents had gone way too soon, even if she was indebted to Zarios, still she was richer than he had ever been.

Even if she’d mourn them for ever, at least she’d had a family, and at least she’d had a home.

Which were two luxuries that Zarios had never been afforded.