Читать книгу A Venetian Affair: A Venetian Passion / In the Venetian's Bed / A Family For Keeps - CATHERINE GEORGE, Catherine George - Страница 9

THE night was endless. Hot and miserable, Laura tossed and turned for hours, embarrassed because her frustrated body refused to give her peace. If this was a side effect of falling in love she was glad she’d never done it before. It was all academic anyway. After throwing the insult at him she would never get the chance to tell Domenico how she felt. Not that it mattered. A relationship of any kind between them was impractical; geographically and every other way. Better to end it now, before any more damage was done.

She sighed in the darkness. Her relationships with men in the past had been light-hearted, uncommitted affairs, with no regrets and no harm done when they were over. Except for Edward. He’d astounded her with the scene at the Ritz because she’d known him since they were children. She regretted the loss of his friendship, but it didn’t keep her awake at night. While the thought of never seeing Domenico again was unbearable. Laura swallowed a dry, despairing sob, turned on the light and reached for her guidebook. The visit to the Guggenheim would obviously be made solo now, so she might as well give up trying to sleep and find out how to get there.

Mission accomplished, Laura picked up a paperback and tried her best to read for a while, but the story was so obviously heading for a much happier ending than her own she gave up and switched off the light, then groaned as she remembered the silk tie intended as a parting gift. She would have to find some way to get it to Domenico. Taking it to his apartment was out of the question. She would just have to deliver it to his hotel. Wherever that might be. Domenico had been surprisingly cagey on the subject.

Laura got up early next morning, feeling groggy from lack of sleep and the overdose of emotion. To put her brain in gear she stood in the shower for a while and took a long time over her hair afterwards. When it was brushed and pinned back in a severe twist without a tendril in sight she put on her last clean white T-shirt and pair of jeans, stuffed her guidebook and supply of postcards in her satchel and went downstairs. Once she had steeled herself to deliver the tie she would make for the Guggenheim and a dose of modern art.

Signora Rossi was at her desk, smiling. ‘Buon giorno, Miss Green.’

‘Good morning.’ Laura smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the name of the hotel where Signor Chiesa works. Would you happen to know it?’

‘But of course. It is the Forli Palace,’ said the woman, looking surprised.

‘Thank you. Is it far from here?’

Supplied with directions, Laura went out for coffee and drank it at a table for once. She looked through her postcards, singled out a view of Florian’s outdoor tables, and wrote a brief message on it to enclose with the tie.

To Domenico, with thanks for all your kindness, Laura.

She resealed the gift packaging, wrote his name on the label, finished her coffee and went off to search for the Forli Palace. Following the signora’s directions, she crossed the Ponte della Paglia, with its bird’s-eye view of the Bridge of Sighs, and joined the teeming crowds on the promenade on the busy Riva degli Schiavoni. People eddied around the busy stalls and hurried to and fro from the vaporetto stops, but Laura’s interest was centred on the volume of gondolas, tugs, water buses and taxis on the waters of the lagoon, with even a naval ship just visible in the distance. Eventually the crowds thinned out and Laura reached a row of palazzos long since converted into luxury hotels. Her heart sank when she found the Forli Palace, which was as unlike the Locanda Verona as a hotel could possibly be. The foyer was all pillars, mirrors and frescoes, with great urns of flowers, chandeliers of Venetian glass, and an expanse of marble floor to cross to reach a reception desk manned not by Domenico, to her huge relief, but by two young men who smiled courteously as she approached.

Laura said good morning very firmly in English and held out the package to one of them in response to an offer of help. ‘For Signor Domenico Chiesa,’ she said briefly.

‘Did you wish to see him, signorina?’

‘No! No, that won’t be necessary,’ she said hastily. ‘But would you make sure that he receives this fairly soon, please?’

‘Senza fallo! Without fail,’ he repeated. ‘I will personally make sure of this. But I require your name, please, signorina.’

‘Miss Laura Green,’ she said formally. ‘Grazie.’

Her duty done, Laura squared her shoulders and set off on the longish walk to Dorsoduro to explore the Guggenheim, the one-storey palazzo that from the picture in her guidebook looked out of place among the other buildings in Venice. With Domenico for company she would have travelled by water taxi, but for her remaining time in Venice her diminishing finances meant a walk everywhere. The morning was hot, and the combination of a sleepless night and the nervous strain of visiting the Forli Palace had depleted her energy level to the point that when she’d crossed the Accademia Bridge and found the museum her enthusiasm for modern art, or any other kind, was at low ebb. She brightened a little when she found that the young guide who offered help at the Guggenheim actually came from London, but because of this had to pretend interest she didn’t feel. After a detailed tour of works by familiar names like Picasso, Mondriaan and Ernst, others by artists Laura had never heard of, plus a whole room devoted to the works of Jackson Pollock, her guide took her round the statuary in the garden. But when they reached the canal entrance a sculpture of a horse bearing a man in a state of full arousal was a statue too many for Laura, and, face burning behind the dark glasses, she muttered her thanks and left in a hurry to go in search of caffeine.

She came to a halt at one of the cafés along the Zattere, where the views across the Giudecca Canal were delightful and the prices a lot cheaper than in San Marco. Lunch seemed like a good idea now she was here, in case she couldn’t face the prospect of a solitary dinner later. After a toasted sandwich and some orange juice, followed by an espresso to perk her up, Laura walked back to the hotel, so tired by the time she got there she collapsed on her bed, desperate for sleep. And stayed wide awake. Exasperated, she read for a while instead, but at last gave up, dressed again, and went out to look at some of the Renaissance art Venice was famous for.

During her window-shopping in the Mercerie Laura had noticed a side entrance between the shops to the San Salvatore church and made this her first stop. The beautiful Renaissance interior was impressive, but without Domenico for company Laura felt totally overwhelmed by it, and after only a cursory inspection of the two Titian paintings the guidebook mentioned she went back to the shops. She wandered past the tempting merchandise on display in the windows again for a while, but when she reached Campo Santo Stefano Laura dutifully went inside the church to admire the ship’s keel ceiling and marble pillars mentioned in the guidebook. Her duty done, she went back out into the big square and sat down in one of the open-air cafés to cool down with an ice cream. While she waited for it she watched children playing near the central statue and wondered what on earth to do for the rest of the day. But originally she had expected to be alone in Venice for her entire stay. So she would just have to resign herself to spending her last night here with a book in her hotel room or come back to this busy square to eat. It would be too painful to visit Florian’s again.

Laura sighed, took out the postcards she’d bought earlier, and began writing messages on them, ready to post on her way back. Halfway through the pile her phone rang, and she seized it, heart thumping, to say a cautious, hopeful hello.

‘Laura?’

Her heart leapt at the sound of the voice she’d never expected to hear again.

‘Yes?’

‘Domenico. I have just received your gift. Many, many thanks. I did not expect this.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you did. I bought it before we went to the Basilica yesterday.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘In the square where we found the gold mask.’

‘Ah. Campo Santo Stefano.’

‘So my guidebook says.’

‘Laura, ascolta—listen. I know you fly back tomorrow.’

‘I leave after breakfast.’

‘It is a very bad thing to part in such a way. I was angry last night—’

‘You had every right to be. I regretted the words the moment I said them. I apologise.’

‘I said certain words that I do not regret,’ he said, his voice a tone lower.

Not sure what answer he expected in answer to that, Laura played safe. ‘I’m very glad you rang.’

‘Bene. I am glad also. Laura, let us dine together one last time tonight, yes?’

Oh, yes, please! ‘Thank you,’ she said, deliberately polite to mask the joy bubbling up inside her. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘Then I will call for you at seven.’

Laura put the phone away and sat utterly still for a long time, savouring the blissful feeling of relief. Campo Santo Stefano was suddenly the most beautiful place on earth. She no longer felt tired, and tomorrow she would fly home in far happier frame of mind now the parting with Domenico seemed likely to be at least amicable. She rang her mother to confirm that she’d go straight to Stavely for the weekend for Fen’s hen party, and then strolled back to the hotel to get ready for the evening. She was in such tearing spirits during the process she was ready and waiting in the airy chiffon dress when the phone rang dead on the minute at seven o’clock.

‘I am here,’ said Domenico.

‘Give me a moment and I’ll be right down.’

Laura sprayed a cloud of perfume into the air, walked through it on her way to the door, and then made herself go downstairs at a sedate pace. Her heart missed a beat at the sight of Domenico in the reception hall, which was deserted for once. He wore a formal dark suit with a gleaming white shirt and the tie she’d bought, and it was all she could do not to run the rest of the way and throw herself into his arms.

‘Buona sera, Laura,’ he said, smiling as he came forward. ‘What an enchanting dress. You look more beautiful each time I see you.’

So do you, she thought fervently. ‘Thank you. I’ll just leave my key.’ She pressed the bell and gave the key to Signora Rossi, who wished them both a pleasant evening.

Outside in the sunset light Domenico eyed her intently as they crossed the familiar bridge. ‘What did you do today, Laura?’

‘After I delivered the package to your hotel I walked to the Guggenheim,’ she said in a tone that won her a wry look.

‘You did not care for this?’

‘It was interesting,’ she said neutrally.

‘Interesting,’ he repeated, smiling a little as they strolled along the familiar route to the Piazza San Marco.

Laura described her tour of modern art and the switch to Renaissance architecture in the afternoon, but as they turned into the piazza she paused to look him in the eye. ‘I didn’t enjoy any of it, Domenico. After our disagreement last night I was miserable all day. I did those things just to kill time, which is a totally barbarous thing to do in a place like Venice.’

He seized her hand. ‘I also was miserable—until this afternoon, when I received your gift.’

‘I left it at the hotel fairly early this morning,’ she informed him huskily.

‘I did not return there until just before I rang you.’ Domenico waved in acknowledgement to someone passing by, then began to walk faster. ‘Come. We shall take a water taxi from the Molo.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Before we dine I thought you might like a walk in the Giardini Pubblici. They are gardens in the quiet part of Castello.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Or are you worn out with so much walking today?’

‘Not in the least,’ she assured him, and returned the smile with such radiance his grasp on her hand tightened painfully.

The journey by water taxi was so brief Laura laughed at Domenico as he helped her out. ‘We should have walked.’

‘You must not return to your family exhausted, Laura!’

Far from tired, she felt like dancing along as she strolled with Domenico in tranquil, leafy gardens she had never expected to find in Venice.

‘The pavilions here exhibit contemporary art at the Biennale, but this happens only on odd-numbered years,’ he said, and grinned. ‘So you are spared more modern art this evening, Laura.’

‘Thank heavens for that. Though with you for company I would have enjoyed it—probably the Guggenheim and the churches as well,’ she said honestly. ‘But today nothing pleased me because I was alone and miserable.’

‘Ah, Laura!’ Domenico looked round swiftly, then bent to give her an urgent kiss. ‘Even if I embarrass you in public I need this.’

Her eyes sparkled. ‘Did I cause you any embarrassment by turning up at your hotel this morning?’

He shook his head, smiling. ‘It was a great surprise to find that a Miss Laura Green had left a package for me, but I was delighted, not embarrassed.’

She slanted a look at him. ‘I thought you might have been teased by the others on the staff, and brought me here by boat to avoid walking past the Forli Palace.’

He gave her a look of mock affront. ‘My concern was for you alone.’

She laughed at him, and he stroked a caressing finger down her cheek. But as they resumed their leisurely stroll Laura’s curiosity intensified as to what exactly Domenico did at his hotel. She longed to assure him that however menial his job she would still feel the same about him. But her relief at their reconciliation was so intense she kept quiet on the subject rather than risk spoiling their last evening together, and a few minutes later they were seated at a table on the canalside terrace of a restaurant renowned, Domenico told her, for its seafood.

‘I hope you are not tired of fish?’

‘Not in the least,’ Laura assured him. ‘Tell me what to choose.’

‘They do a very good spaghetti dish here—alla busana, with scampi, tomato and chilli.’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

Everything about the evening was so wonderful to Laura after the unhappiness of the day that the only shadow came when Domenico gave her a sombre look as they left.

‘I wish so much that you were not leaving tomorrow, Laura.’

‘So do I. But at least,’ she added, determinedly cheerful, ‘I shall have the memory of this evening to look back on when I’m slaving away in London.’

‘Our evening has not ended yet, cara.’

‘True. We have the walk back yet—’

‘We shall return by boat,’ he said promptly.

She shook her head. ‘It’s much too expensive to keep zipping about in water taxis.’ Then it occurred to her that maybe he really didn’t want to walk past his hotel.

‘Let’s go more slowly by vaporetto so I can take my last look at the lagoon by moonlight.’

It was a bittersweet experience to stand with Domenico at the rail for the last time. Laura gave a deep sigh when they left the boat. ‘This time tomorrow I’ll be home in Stavely.’

‘I know,’ he said sombrely, and took her hand. ‘Ring me the minute you arrive, per favore.’

She nodded silently.

He looked down at her in question. ‘It is much too early to take you to the hotel. Would you like some tea, Laura?’

Her heart leapt. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Will you come home with me to drink it?’

‘Yes, please.’

He laughed softly. ‘Such a polite English miss. Yet last night you stabbed me to the heart!’

‘Such a dramatic Venetian signore,’ she mocked.

‘It is the truth,’ he assured her. ‘I did not sleep last night.’

‘Because I was so horrible?’

‘Yes. But also because I desired you so much my frustrated body would not let me rest.’

Laura flushed hectically, glad of the dim lighting as they left the piazza. ‘I had something of the same trouble,’ she admitted gruffly.

He stopped dead. ‘Are you saying you longed for me as much as I longed for you?’ he demanded.

She nodded. ‘That’s never happened to me before.’

‘Then you have not felt passion for the men in your life,’ he said with satisfaction as they resumed walking.

‘There haven’t been that many,’ she protested.

‘Bene.’ When they reached his apartment he took her hand to walk upstairs then unlocked his door and ushered her inside. ‘But whatever their number in the past, Laura, it is now just one, yes?’

For answer she threw her arms round him as she’d wanted to the moment she’d seen him earlier, wanting but not quite daring to tell him that now he was the only man she wanted in her life. Ever.

Domenico’s arms closed round her in possession, his cheek on her hair as they held each other in silence. After a while he released her and took her into the kitchen. ‘You want tea,’ he said unevenly.

‘Actually, I don’t. I said I did because I hoped you’d bring me back here,’ she said candidly, and caught her breath at the brilliance of his smile.

‘So what would you like, carissima?’

‘I want to hold hands with you and just enjoy being together for the time we have left,’ she said simply.

‘Bene,’ he said, stroking a hand down her cheek. ‘Because that is almost exactly what I wish to do, also.’

‘Almost?’

He shrugged. ‘I cannot lie, Laura. I am a man, therefore I want more than just to hold hands.’

‘You’re honest!’ she said as they went into the salotto.

The translucent eyes shadowed slightly. ‘I try to be.’ He took off his jacket and drew her down beside him. ‘Laura, I would have rung you today, even without receiving your gift.’

‘Really?’

‘I could not have parted with you in such a way.’

‘It would have made my flight home pretty miserable,’ she admitted.

There was silence for a moment, then Domenico turned to her. ‘It is madness to think that mere money should keep us from seeing each other.’

‘It’s a big thing to me, Domenico.’ She leaned against his shoulder. ‘I didn’t have a holiday last year, so my mother gave me money for my birthday on condition I put it towards the villa-share I was offered in Tuscany. As I told you before, I earn a good salary, but I budget very carefully so I can save a bit for Abby and buy the reasonably smart clothes I need for my job. And I’d love to have my hair cut in one of those spiffy short styles, but keeping it long is cheaper so I don’t.’

‘Do not cut your beautiful hair, ever,’ he said vehemently. ‘Laura—’

‘No, hear me out. I’m trying to explain why, much as I long to come back to Venice, I can’t before next year at the very earliest, Domenico.’

He turned to stare at her in consternation. ‘Next year!’

She nodded ruefully. ‘But if you like travelling couldn’t you come to London instead? Or don’t you get enough time off from your job?’

‘If it is the only way to see you I shall make time,’ he assured her. ‘Is there room for me in your flat?’

‘Yes.’ Laura looked at him squarely. ‘But there’s only one bed.’

Domenico drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I have tried,’ he said roughly, ‘but I am only human, carissima.’ He lifted her onto his lap and kissed her with undisguised longing. ‘Amore,’ he whispered. ‘I want you so much. Do you want me?’

She touched a hand to his cheek. ‘Not just want. I couldn’t sleep last night, afraid I’d never have the chance to tell you I’m very much in love with you, too, Domenico.’

This confession was too much for him. He kissed her fiercely, then scooped her up to carry her to the bedroom, which up to now had been unknown territory. But, utterly bowled over by being carried off in Domenico’s arms, Laura had no eyes for décor as he laid her down on the bed. He stretched out beside her and held her close, his cheek against hers.

‘You are trembling,’ he whispered.

She nodded. ‘You are, too.’

He gave a husky, muffled laugh. ‘I know a cure for this.’

Laura wriggled closer. ‘Cure me, then.’

‘First,’ he whispered, ‘I must take down your hair.’

‘Will that stop the shaking?’

‘No, but it will give me very great pleasure!’ When her hair streamed down in a gleaming cascade Domenico drew in a deep, relishing breath and threaded his fingers through it as he kissed her. Laura returned his kisses for a long, breathless interval, then pushed him away and stood at the side of the bed, shaking her hair back from her flushed face.

‘I must go back to the hotel looking respectable, Domenico, so if only for practical reasons I’d better take my dress off.’ She kicked off her shoes, then sat on the bed with her back to him. ‘Would you undo my zip, please?’

‘I like these practical reasons!’ He sat up to plant kisses down her spine as he laid it bare, then stood up and drew her to her feet to smooth the dress from her shoulders. Laura stepped out of it and held it out to him, her colour high as his eyes moved over her with a possessive look as tactile as a caress. He laid the dress carefully over a chair, then snatched her up again and sat down with her on his lap to press kisses all over her face. When he raised his head she began to loosen his tie.

‘Your turn now,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Be careful, amore,’ he warned, in a tone that turned her to jelly, ‘this tie is very special to me.’

Laura slid to her feet and handed it to him. ‘You can put it away, then.’

Domenico took it to join her dress, and then in sudden impatience took his shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and stripped down to silk boxers before picking her up again to lay her on the bed. He let himself down beside her and took her face in his hands. ‘We are still shaking,’ he pointed out.

Laura smiled into the luminous blue eyes. ‘So what do we do to stop it?’

‘First,’ he whispered, ‘I do this.’ He undid her bra and tossed it away. ‘Then I do this.’ He paid loving, incendiary attention to each breast, his hands stroking and his lips on each nipple in turn with a delicate graze of teeth that sent such streaks of fire darting down inside she gasped and thrust her hips against him. He breathed in sharply, and moved his mouth lower over her ribs and down the slight swell of her stomach as he removed the last small lacy obstacle to kiss the mound beneath it. She stiffened, and pushed at his shoulders, and at once he slid back up her body, his eyes questioning.

‘You do not like this?’

She shook her head, flushing. ‘It’s a mystery to me why a man should want to do that.’

Domenico laughed joyously. ‘Ah, Laura. Has no man ever explained the mystery to you?’

‘No. It’s not a subject I care to discuss.’

‘Discussion is a mistake. A practical demonstration is better—and you like things practical, yes?’

‘I thought you were going to cure this shaky feeling, but it’s even worse now,’ she accused, and with sudden impatience slid a hand over the black silk, grasping him through it in a caress that brought such a groan she released him in shock. ‘Oh, Domenico, did I hurt you? I’m sorry!’

He closed his eyes tightly as he fought for control. Laura gazed up into his face and put her arms round him, hugging him close as he rubbed his cheek blindly over her hair.

At last Domenico let out an unsteady breath. ‘This will be the first time we make love, also the last for much too long. I want it to be perfect for you, so do not touch me like that, carissima or this will not be possible. As I have told you before, I am not made of stone.’

It had felt frighteningly like it to Laura, a discovery that escalated the shaking problem still further as Domenico made love to her with skill and passion she responded to with ardour, which delighted him as he caressed her into a state of longing so intense that this time she yielded to the touch of his seeking lips and tongue in the place no man had ever kissed before. Shock waves of sensation surged through her entire body, rocketing her to climax as Domenico held her close, whispering ragged endearments in his own language.

When she was quiet in his arms, he smoothed her hair from her forehead and smiled down into her dazed eyes. ‘Now you know why a man wishes to kiss and caress you that way, yes?’

‘It was obvious what it did for me, but nothing happened for you, Domenico,’ she said, frowning.

He smiled indulgently. ‘It is a most wonderful thing for a man to know that he has given his woman such pleasure, tesoro! And when you are ready for me again I shall share the pleasure with you.’

His hands and lips and tongue caressed with such skill that soon Laura was on fire for him again and Domenico slid his hands into her hair, his eyes blazing in triumph as he moved between her thighs to enter her with slow, exquisite care, little by little, until at last she gave a ragged gasp of pleasure as he thrust deep inside her. She hugged him closer and he kissed her open mouth, murmuring in his own tongue as he began to move, gradually increasing the tempo as she moved with him until they reached a frenzied rhythm, which brought them to culmination so overwhelming they stayed joined, close in each other’s arms long after it was over.

When Domenico raised the head he’d buried in Laura’s hair his smile flipped her heart over. ‘We are not shaking,’ he observed huskily.

‘No,’ she agreed unevenly. ‘You cured it.’

‘We cured it together,’ he corrected. ‘Perfectly, beautifully together, carissima.’

She heaved a deep, unsteady sigh.

‘Why do you sigh, Laura?’ he asked, smoothing her hair from her forehead.

‘I was just wishing I could stay here like this and not move until tomorrow morning,’ she said frankly, and smiled sleepily as his arms tightened.

‘I also,’ he said, and kissed her gently. ‘But Signora Rossi will expect me to bring you back by midnight, Cenerentola. I will come back for you early in the morning, and we shall have one last breakfast together before I take you to the airport.’

‘But won’t you be needed at your hotel?’ she said anxiously.

‘Not until I have taken you to Marco Polo.’

‘You have a very accommodating job, Domenico!’

‘I will tell you all about it in the morning,’ he promised, and smiled down at her. ‘Tomorrow we talk; tonight is for love.’

It was well past midnight when they reached the Locanda Verona, but Signora Rossi merely smiled indulgently when Domenico apologised for keeping her guest out a little later on her last night in Venice. He wished the signora goodnight, then turned to Laura and raised her hand very formally to his lips.

‘Sleep well. I shall come for you in the morning.’

She gave him a demure smile and said, ‘Grazie, e stata una magnifica serata.’

The blue eyes narrowed wickedly. ‘It was a wonderful evening for me, also.’

‘Goodnight, Domenico.’

‘Goodnight, Laura.’

When the door closed behind him Laura felt suddenly so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She received her key, asked for her bill to be made ready for the morning, wished the signora goodnight, and drifted up to her room in a happy daze. She managed to set her alarm before she fell into bed, and then slept like the dead until she woke to the ring tone of her phone next morning.

‘Hello,’ she said groggily, then shot upright at the sound of Domenico’s voice.

‘Laura! Are you awake?’

‘I am now. Is something wrong?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, carissima. There is a problem at the hotel. I have been called in to help with it—’

‘And you can’t come with me to the airport. Don’t worry, Domenico. I’m sorry you can’t make it, but I’ll be fine.’

‘I am more than just sorry,’ he said urgently. ‘There is so much I wish to say to you. Please ring me tonight.’

‘I will,’ she promised, keeping her voice steady by sheer force of will. ‘Goodbye, Domenico.’

‘Arrivederci, tesoro. Take great care, yes?’

‘You too!’

Laura disconnected and dragged herself out of bed, so disappointed she wanted to howl. She’d so looked forward to travelling to Marco Polo with Domenico, greedy for every possible minute with him after the magic of their night. She sighed heavily, then pulled herself together and got on with her preparations for leaving. When she was showered, dressed, her suitcase packed and the room tidy, Laura went downstairs to pay the bill, which surprised her by being less than expected because, Signora Rossi explained, the room was on the attic floor, much smaller than the others and less popular due to the absence of an elevator, therefore there was a discount on the usual tariff. Laura thanked her warmly, received her passport, and after goodbyes set off for San Marco to catch the No. 1 Aligaluna boat to take the slow journey back along the Grand Canal to say her last, lingering goodbyes to Venice on her way to Marco Polo airport.