Читать книгу The Mills & Boon Stars Collection - Мишель Смарт, Cathy Williams - Страница 17
ОглавлениеJEMIMA WAS IN SHOCK.
Luciano Vitale was asking her to marry him. How was that possible? She had joined him at breakfast expecting to be told when she would be flying home and instead he had proposed marriage. Her lashes fluttered down to screen her eyes.
‘Nicky’s mother?’
‘And the mother of any other children that we might have together,’ Luciano slotted in smoothly, catching her startled upward glance and looking steadily back at her. ‘I’m talking about a normal marriage and a family. Be assured of that.’
Jemima felt rather like a mouse cornered by a cat. His brilliant dark eyes sought out hers, level and direct and forceful, as if seeking assurance that she was listening properly. A normal marriage, a family. Shock was piling on shock. Her taut lips parted and she blurted out, ‘But you’re not in love with me!’
Luciano inclined his arrogant head to one side and compressed his sensual mouth. ‘Is that kind of romantic love so necessary to you?’
Jemima went pink. ‘I always assumed that I would only marry for love.’
‘But love doesn’t always last,’ Luciano parried wryly. ‘It can also encourage unrealistic expectations in the relationship. I can’t offer you love but I can offer you respect and consideration and fidelity. I believe there is a very good chance that a marriage created on such practical foundations would succeed.’
She thought he was quite probably the most beautiful man in the world as he leant back against that balustrade, black curls ruffling in the breeze above his darkly handsome features. He was offering her respect, consideration and fidelity. Didn’t he believe in love? Or did he still think he was in love with his first wife? She wanted to ask but it felt like the wrong moment. Luciano had proposed marriage. Wasn’t that supposed to be special? It was obvious he had thought in depth about marrying her.
‘Why me?’ she asked baldly.
‘Primarily you love my son and he loves you. I grew up without a mother and I want more for him.’
‘You could marry anyone,’ she cut in helplessly.
‘But to any other woman Niccolò would always be second best once she had a child of her own. I don’t believe you will react like that but many women would,’ Luciano fielded quietly.
‘Yet you planned his birth knowing you intended to raise your child without a mother,’ she reminded him.
‘That was before I saw the strength of the bond between you and him and the happiness that gave him.’
Having heard enough, Jemima forced a smile and rose from her seat. ‘I’m afraid the man I marry would have to want me for more than my child-rearing abilities,’ she told him stiffly, struggling to keep the little amused smile in place and mask the deep hollow of hurt opening up inside her.
Luciano dealt her a seething look of frustration and strode after her. ‘Jemima!’
Jemima didn’t turn her head, she just kept on walking away fast, unable to face any further dialogue. She was so hurt and she didn’t really understand why. Surely it was always a sort of a compliment if a man asked you to marry him? Even if you didn’t want to say yes. And at that point, she realised what was wrong. She wanted more. She wanted him to want her personally and that was downright silly as well as unlikely. So many more beautiful and sophisticated women would have snatched at Luciano’s offer with two greedy hands. Who did she think she was to be so finicky?
‘Jemima...!’ Luciano exclaimed, closing a powerful hand round her shoulder to spin her round in the picture gallery. ‘You know very well that I want you for more than that!’
Jemima sucked in a gulp of oxygen and almost lost it again as she clashed with blazing dark golden eyes. ‘Do I?’ she slashed back in challenge.
‘You do know,’ Luciano told her, crowding her back against the wall behind her.
‘How would I know?’ Jemima flamed back at him. ‘Nicky loves me and you think I’m good for him. That’s why you’re asking me to marry you.’
His white teeth flashed against his bronzed skin. ‘Last night, we—’
‘No, don’t try to drag last night into it,’ Jemima warned angrily. ‘Your proposal made it clear that providing your son with a mother was your main motivation!’
‘Accidenti... I was taking a conservative approach. I assumed you would prefer that!’
‘Why would a woman want a conservative proposal?’ Jemima countered impatiently.
‘You would’ve preferred me to take you to bed again before I proposed?’
Jemima recognised the difference between her outlook and his and almost screamed in vexation. She thought of love and romance while he thought of sex, and wild, raunchy sex at that. Well, he had been upfront about not being able to offer love, so what more could she reasonably expect from him? And did she really want to say no? No to being Nicky’s mum? No to being Luciano’s wife and the potential mother of his children?
Luciano planted his hands squarely on the wall either side of her head, his lean, powerful body effectively imprisoning hers. Her ice-blue eyes widened as she felt his erection push against her belly, his hard readiness formidable even through the barrier of their clothes. Heat coiled at the heart of her rose up and clear thought process broke down. Hunger settled in a tight, hard knot inside her, constricting her breathing.
‘No. On bended knee and dinner by candlelight would have been more your style,’ Luciano derided.
‘I’m not that old-fashioned,’ she told him in exasperation.
Lowering his head, he brushed his lips almost teasingly against hers and then lingered to capture and suckle her lower lip, one hand sliding down the wall to close on her hip and jerk her into closer contact. His tongue eased between her readily parted lips and delved in an unashamedly sexual sortie. Her breathing fractured as she came off the wall to wrap her arms round his neck, fingertips sliding into his luxuriant hair.
‘So, is this a yes, piccolo mia?’ Luciano husked sexily against her swollen mouth.
‘Are you always calculating the odds?’ Jemima complained, jerking her head back out of reach.
Luciano gave her a wicked grin that loosed a flock of butterflies in her tummy and left her feeling dizzy. ‘I don’t switch off my brain very often,’ he admitted.
She could have him if she wanted him, Jemima reflected on a heady high. And she wanted him—oh, my goodness, yes, she wanted him. But it would be crazy to make an impulsive decision based on the feelings of the moment. And her feelings just then were overwhelmingly physical and dangerously unreliable. Close to Luciano, her body vibrated like a tuning fork. He made her want to drag him off to the nearest secluded corner. That awareness cooled her heated blood and made her take a mental step back to take stock.
‘I have to think about this,’ Jemima declared, ignoring the frowning slant of his black brows above his stunning eyes. ‘I need to be on my own for a while. I’m going for a walk on the beach.’
Recalling the flight of winding stone steps that led down to the shore from the terrace, she walked back into the sunlight. Round and round and round she went, moving faster and faster in her need to escape until her heels finally sank into the blissfully soft sand at the bottom. With a sigh she slipped off her shoes, closed her fingers through the straps and walked barefoot down to the shore.
The surf dampened her feet as she moved away from the castle. Little white houses straggled up the hillside on the other side of the horseshoe-shaped bay and boats bobbed in the harbour. A church with a bell tower made the village look even more picturesque in the sunshine.
So, how did she really feel about Luciano? Did she want him for the right reasons? Shouldn’t Nicky be her driving motivation? Did it matter that she was thinking less about Nicky and more about becoming Luciano’s wife? Why couldn’t she think about anything but Luciano? Was she infatuated with him? No doubt that would wear off with continued exposure to him and prevent her from behaving like an embarrassing teenager with a crush, she thought with an inner wince. After all, it was obvious that if such a marriage of convenience was to work she would have to be more practical in her outlook.
Could she happily settle for respect and consideration and fidelity? Well, she thought wryly, maybe not happily, but, if the alternative was not to have Luciano at all, her choice was being made for her. If the chance was there, she definitely wanted to take it and give it a go. And what about her family, her friends and the teaching career that she loved? Living abroad in Sicily? Could she adjust to that change? Friends and family would be able to visit as she would be able to visit them, she told herself, and, while she would miss her job, raising Nicky and having more children would certainly fill her time.
Registering that she was walking straight for the natural rock formation that cut off the beach at one point, Jemima changed direction in favour of the path running between the shore and the single-track road. She put her shoes back on, relieved she had worn low heels, and only as she straightened did she appreciate that she was not walking alone. Three of Luciano’s bodyguards hovered several yards away and she made a shooing motion of dismissal with her hands before turning defiantly on her heel and picking up her pace towards the village. Why on earth were they following her? Were such precautions really necessary for her safety?
Tired and hot, she paused at a café above the beach and walked in to sit down. It was busy. A large group of elderly men sat playing a board game in one corner and several other tables were occupied. As soon as Jemima sat down a bodyguard approached her to ask her what she wanted, acting as a liaison between her and the proprietor, who was viewing them nervously. Freshly squeezed orange juice was brought and she sipped, cooling off from the early-morning heat while watching a handful of children play ball on the beach below.
Nicky would have a whole beach to himself at the castle, she thought heavily. Would he even be allowed to play with other children? Had Luciano the smallest idea of what an ordinary childhood was like? What had his own been like? He had shared so little with her. All she knew about his background and his first marriage had been gleaned from the Internet. Luciano was not a male who willingly opened up about his past.
A sports car purred to a halt outside and Luciano sprang out of it. The proprietor bowed almost double and the waiter copied him. The old men stopped their game, suddenly rigid, their chatter silenced. As he strode in Luciano addressed the owner and then settled down lithely opposite her, seemingly impervious to the apprehensive silence that had greeted his arrival and that of his protection team.
‘Why did you have me followed?’
‘My father died when his yacht was blown up in the harbour out there,’ Luciano volunteered. ‘I have lived a very different life but there are still those who hate and fear me because of the blood in my veins. I can’t take the risk of ignoring that.’
Jemima had gone very pale. She brushed his hand soothingly with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry...’
His lush lashes lifted and dark golden eyes scanned her as a glass of water was brought to the table for him. ‘For what? For old history? Nobody grieved for my father, least of all me,’ he admitted bluntly.
‘Was your childhood unhappy?’ she murmured tautly, her eyes on his lean, dark face and the strong tension etched there.
‘Is knowing such things about me important to you?’
Amazed that he should have to ask that, Jemima nodded confirmation.
Luciano drank his water. ‘It was a nightmare,’ he admitted gruffly. ‘That’s why I want a normal family life for Niccolò.’
Jemima wondered what a nightmare entailed and wasn’t sure she could live with further clarification. The haunting darkness in his eyes sent a chill racing down her spine. The old men in the corner were still staring and she glanced away, wondering what it had been like for Luciano to grow up as the son of a man who was loathed and feared and whose reputation for corruption had stretched beyond death to shadow his son’s. Frustrated tenderness laced with intense compassion twisted through Jemima. A normal family life. It was not so much to ask. It was not an impossible dream, was it? In fact it was a modest aspiration for so wealthy and powerful a male and that knowledge touched her heart more deeply than anything else could have done.
Luciano wondered why Jemima appeared to be on the brink of tears. He could see moisture glimmering in her ice-blue eyes. He didn’t want to talk about his dirty past; he didn’t even want to think about such things. It had soiled him for ever—how could it not soil her? Furthermore, he was still reeling from his own behaviour the night before: he had lost control of his temper and acted with dishonour. Even his father had waited to marry his mother before sharing a bed with her. He repressed his troubled thoughts, knowing the futility of regretting what was past.
‘I want to marry you,’ he told her very quietly.
‘I know,’ she whispered, her heart beating so fast it felt as though it were in her throat. ‘But I’m not sure what that means to you.’
‘I wanted you the first moment I saw you,’ Luciano ground out in a driven undertone. ‘Is that what you want to hear? I thought you were your sister then and I couldn’t believe that I could want such a woman, so I fought it. You’re a very loving woman, Jemima, and my son needs that. I don’t think I’m capable of giving that kind of love, but you are.’
Yes, that was what Jemima had needed to hear. A blinding smile curved her lips and lit up her face. ‘OK...you’ve won me over,’ she told him shakily.
Luciano snapped his fingers and the proprietor came running. He spoke in Italian. The waiter scurried around serving everyone in the bar, even Luciano’s protection team. The café owner reappeared with a dusty bottle, which he proffered with pride. The wine was poured and toasts were made.
‘I bought everyone a drink to celebrate our wedding plans with us,’ Luciano explained as her eyes widened.
‘We’re talking weddings now?’ Jemima parroted as he nudged her nerveless fingers with a wine glass. ‘You want me to have a drink? But it’s only ten o’clock in the morning!’
He groaned out loud and raked impatient fingers through his black curls. ‘Santa Madonna! I forgot to give you the ring!’
In a daze, Jemima moistened her dry mouth with the wine. ‘There’s a ring?’
‘Certamente...of course there’s a ring!’ Luciano withdrew a tiny box from his pocket and flipped it open to a spectacular sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds. Removing it from the box, he lifted her hand and slid it onto her engagement finger. ‘If you don’t like it, we can choose something else.’
‘No...it’s beautiful,’ Jemima whispered dizzily. ‘Where did you get it from? I mean, we only arrived...’
‘It belonged to my mother’s family...and no, before you ask, it never belonged to Gigi,’ he assured her.
Smiles had broken out all around them. Several solemn toasts were made. Luciano seemed taken aback by the warmth of the good wishes offered. Jemima drank her wine and watched the sunlight glitter off her amazing ring while wondering with a little frisson of excitement if Luciano would be sharing a bed with her again that night.
‘Why did Gigi never wear this ring?’ she asked baldly.
‘It wasn’t flashy enough for her. She only wore diamonds.’
It was the first time he had voluntarily mentioned his first wife. Jemima supposed that in time she would learn more but she could tell by his tension that, although he was trying hard to be more open with her, it was a tender subject and he was struggling. So much had already changed between them but the biggest alteration in Luciano’s attitude had occurred as soon as he’d realised that she wasn’t her twin sister, Julie. The awareness that he had fought any attraction to her before he’d known her true identity soothed Jemima’s concerns. Luciano was willing to overlook her lies because he respected her attachment to Nicky and her principles. In other words, what was important to her was equally important to him.
‘So, when will we be getting married?’ she asked as Luciano tucked her into the elegant sports car outside.
‘As soon as possible. Draw up a guest list of friends and family.’ Curling black lashes shaded Luciano’s gaze, his wide sensual mouth relaxed. ‘My staff will take care of all the arrangements. We’ll have the wedding here.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Here in Sicily?’
‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to trail Niccolò back to the UK again,’ Luciano commented with a frown. ‘You would have to stay somewhere where my security people could look after you both because when word of our relationship breaks in the media you will both be a paparazzi target. It will be easier if you remain here on the island, where your privacy can be assured.’
Jemima tried to absorb the realities of her new life and slowly shook her head in bemusement because she could not even begin to imagine being a target for the paparazzi. But, more importantly, a further change of climate and yet another selection of strange faces would not benefit Nicky either, she conceded ruefully. If Castello del Drogo was to be the little boy’s permanent home, he should be allowed to settle into his new surroundings without the stress of having to adapt to any additional challenges.
‘I have a tour of Asia scheduled and, as I’ll be away for a couple of weeks, I suggest that you invite your family out to keep you company until the wedding,’ Luciano remarked, disconcerting her.
He was leaving her. Jemima refused to betray any reaction. Obviously he would travel on business and such temporary separations would be part of their lives. She had never been the clingy type. She was independent and self-sufficient, she reminded herself doggedly. Wanting to climb into his suitcase with Nicky was just plain stupid.
‘I’m surprised you’re prepared to leave Nicky so soon,’ she admitted.
‘When the tour of my holdings was organised, actually finding my son still seemed like a fantasy,’ he confided ruefully. ‘Now that I have found him I have no intention of being an absent parent. Once I’m home again I’ll be spending a lot of time with him.’
They returned to the castello. ‘What made you buy this place?’ Jemima asked curiously. ‘Was it purely for the private setting?’
‘I didn’t buy it. I inherited it. It belonged to my mother’s family. She grew up here.’ His lean bronzed face shadowed.
‘Did you stay here when you were a child?’
‘No. My mother never returned after she married my father. He first saw her playing on the beach down there as a teenager,’ Luciano told her, tight-mouthed. ‘When I was older he called it love at first sight. I would call it lust...’
Like what Luciano had felt on first seeing Jemima? Jemima wondered ruefully. An instant attraction, similar to what she herself had felt, so how could she look down on that?
‘How did they get together?’ she prompted.
‘In a decent world they would never have got together. He was a murderer, a thief, a gangster,’ Luciano declared without any expression. ‘She was the adored only child of a titled, educated man. But that man gambled and got into debt and my father bought his debt and soon my father owned him. My father wrote off the debt in return for my mother’s hand in marriage...’
‘My goodness,’ Jemima said sickly. ‘What did she have to say about it?’
‘She loved her father and she did what she had to do to save him from the shame of bankruptcy,’ Luciano revealed. ‘I can’t imagine she was happy about the price she had to pay. She married a brutal man.’
Jemima heard the chill in his dark-timbred voice and decided it was definitely time to change the subject. He didn’t want to talk about his parents’ marriage and in the circumstances that was hardly surprising. As she recalled, his mother had died when he was only three years old and it was unlikely that he remembered much about the beautiful brunette in the portrait on the stairs. It was something they had in common and she commented on the fact.
Luciano turned frowning eyes on her.
‘Have you forgotten that I was adopted? I don’t remember anything about my birth parents but what I do know now, thanks to Julie’s research, is that there’s nothing there to be proud of. Our birth mum was a drug addict and I’ll never know who our father was.’
The grim edge stamped round his beautiful mouth eased. ‘Ignorance could be bliss.’
‘Leave it in the past where it belongs,’ she urged, closing her hand round his. ‘We’re not responsible for what our parents did, nor do we have to resemble them.’
Luciano smiled at her simplistic advice and her unsubtle attempt to offer him comfort. He didn’t need comfort. He knew who he was and where he had come from and what he had to avoid to achieve a reasonably happy and successful life. Caring too much about anything, be that women, work or money, was what he had surrendered to embrace peace of mind.
Nicky was surfacing from a nap when they entered the nursery and he held out his arms to Jemima with a huge smile. She hauled him up and turned to Luciano with a grin, wanting to include him, wanting to encourage father and son to get to know each other properly. ‘Let’s take him down to the beach. He’s never seen the sea.’
She changed into her serviceable and rather faded blue racer-back swimsuit, unable to face the challenge of modelling one of the daring ‘barely there’ bikini sets in her new wardrobe. Luciano joined her in swim shorts, lifting a delighted Nicky high and smiling with satisfaction when the little boy laughed. She watched the long, lithe line of his muscled back flex as he tucked Nicky securely below one arm and strode downstairs. Not an ounce of fat clung to his well-built physique and it showed in his narrow waist and lean hips.
A picnic lunch was delivered and food for Nicky. The baby loved getting his toes wet in the surf. He loved even more being held up in the air and looking down at his father. Jemima watched father and son, relieved at how naturally they could interact in a more relaxed setting. Clearly no longer uneasy in Luciano’s presence, Nicky dug his hands into his father’s hair and touched his face with growing familiarity.
‘That was a good suggestion,’ Luciano told her appreciatively as they headed back to the castello.
A blonde waved and smiled at them from the terrace as they climbed the steps up from the beach. She surged forward to greet Luciano and kiss him Continental-style on both cheeks. She was a beauty, a tall, slender blonde with dark eyes and great dress sense.
‘Jemima, meet Sancia Abate...’ Luciano made the introduction casually. ‘Sancia, my wife-to-be, Jemima, and my son, Niccolò.’
Sancia barely glanced in Jemima’s direction but fussed in a very feminine way over Nicky.
‘Who is she? Does she work for you?’ Jemima asked as they walked away.
‘No. She’s Gigi’s kid sister,’ he confided, startling her. ‘I still let her use the guest house here when she needs a break. Nicky gets tired quickly, doesn’t he?’
Jemima watched the baby stick his thumb in his mouth and close his eyes against her shoulder and she smiled in spite of her surprise at that revelation concerning the svelte blonde. ‘You exhausted him. He’s not used to that kind of play. My father’s past that stage.’
‘But he’s very fond of him,’ Luciano cut in.
‘Yes, he is. Did you have grandparents?’
‘No, my grandfather died soon after my parents married.’ His strong jaw clenched, his mouth flattening. ‘Agnese was my nurse when I was a child. She was the closest thing I had to a grandparent.’
‘I didn’t have any either. Mum and Dad met and married later in life,’ Jemima told him as she passed Nicky over to Carlotta in the hall and joined Luciano on the stairs. ‘You lost your mother young.’
‘Yes.’
‘How did it happen?’
Luciano strode across the landing without answering her.
‘Was she ill?’ Jemima persisted, following him down the stone passageway and into his room.
‘No,’ Luciano gritted impatiently, slamming the door closed behind him with a frustrated hand. ‘Don’t you take hints? I don’t want to talk about this...’
Jemima reddened uncomfortably, feeling like a rude nosy parker for having continued to ask questions even after he walked away. ‘I’m sorry...’
His lustrous dark golden eyes glittered. ‘No, I don’t want to lie but I don’t want to tell you the truth either.’
She turned round and smoothed her hands up over his cheekbones in what was meant to be a comforting and apologetic gesture. ‘I’m a horribly nosy person,’ she confessed guiltily. ‘Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile. Don’t even hint at a secret...it turns me into a bloodhound that won’t quit!’
Reluctant laughter escaped Luciano. He stared down at her anxious face and a deep hunger for the warmth of her engulfed him in a tidal wave of need. He pulled her into his arms and claimed her mouth with devastating urgency.
Taken by surprise, Jemima laughed and then gasped beneath the savage onslaught of his mouth. Her body caught flame like hay, a burning ache stirring between her legs, a hot, prickling awareness stiffening her nipples.
‘Madonna! I think I’ll die if I don’t have you now,’ Luciano growled, long fingers closing into the shoulders of her swimsuit to wrench it down and release her breasts.
He tumbled her down on his bed and skimmed off his shorts in an impatient motion, coming up on the mattress to join her unashamedly naked and eager. He knelt at her feet and yanked her swimsuit down her hips to toss it aside while his smouldering gaze wandered at will over her splayed body.
‘I love these...so pretty, so lush,’ he husked, his fingers cupping the curves of her high, full breasts before rising to stroke the pouting crests. ‘And these.’ A lean hand travelled up a slender thigh and nudged her legs apart to display a tantalising ribbon of soft, glistening pink. ‘And this perfect place, piccolo mia. I am enslaved...’
He found that feminine perfection with the erotic expertise of his mouth and it was magical and then terrifying to lose control so fast. She clutched at his hair. She sobbed. She gasped. Ultimately she cried his name in an ecstasy of quivering, wanton pleasure, her body weak and heavy with satisfaction as she lay beneath him, too stunned by his passion and the explosive response he had roused from her to move again.
‘What was it about me...er...being nosy that set you off?’ she whispered helplessly.
Luciano’s brow furrowed. He honestly didn’t know. He had looked at her and an uncontrollable urge to take her to bed had overpowered him. He couldn’t explain it. Her wild response to him had soothed the savage turmoil inside him in a manner beyond his comprehension. He touched her with gentle fingers, put his mouth to a rose-pink nipple, toying with her for a few moments, smiling against her flushed skin as she muttered his name as though she were saying a prayer. He turned her over onto her stomach. She complained about being moved and he ignored it, lifting her up, aligning their bodies and then plunging into the damp, silken heat of her with a raw groan of enthusiasm, swiftly echoed by her boneless cry of encouragement.
Delicious sensation ricocheted up through Jemima’s body, building from the hot, aching heart of her into a blaze that consumed as Luciano slammed into her with compelling strength. Her excitement climbed with the sweet, earthy delight of his penetration. And just when she believed that powerful excitement couldn’t reach any greater height he sent her flying into an orgasm that snapped taut her every muscle and blew her apart in a sublime surge of drowning, melting pleasure.
‘Oh...wow...’ Jemima mumbled, flopping down against the pillows.
Luciano flipped her over and gathered her damp, trembling body close. ‘Oh...wow...’ he teased. ‘Well, you have no choice but to marry me now.’
‘How’s that?’ she framed, barely able to think straight.
‘I didn’t use a condom—’
Her brows pleated in dismay. ‘Luciano—’
‘Having unprotected sex is a sign of commitment, which I have never risked before with a woman,’ he announced above her head.
‘You want a brass trophy or something?’ Jemima looked up at him with wry amusement.
‘No, I want a repeat...’ Luciano growled, treating her full lower lip to a tiny carnal nip swiftly followed by a soothing stroke of his tongue. ‘That was the best sex I ever had, piccolo mia.’
‘Good, because you won’t have got me pregnant,’ Jemima told him with assurance. ‘It’s the wrong time of the month for that.’
Luciano stared down at her with brooding intensity, his lean, darkly handsome features set in unsettlingly serious lines. ‘Don’t be too curious with me.’
Jemima had become very still and her eyes were troubled. ‘Why not?’
‘Unlike you, I’m not the sharing type. I have too much stuff to hide.’
‘Red rag to a bull, Luciano,’ Jemima warned. ‘And if we’re getting married there’s nothing you should need to hide from me.’
Luciano sat up, his dark eyes veiled, his lean, strong body taut with tension. ‘My father killed my mother when I was three,’ he breathed in a constrained undertone. ‘She was trying to take me and leave him... He threw her down the stairs and she broke her neck. I saw it happen.’
Jemima froze and then consciously unfroze again to close her arms protectively round him. ‘How horrible for you to be forced to live with a memory like that.’
Luciano was rigid in the circle of her arms. ‘It’s my past.’
‘Yes...past,’ Jemima stressed, stringing a line of haphazard kisses along the clenched line of his strong jaw until some of his tension eased.
He frowned down at her. ‘Doesn’t it bother you, knowing what I just told you?’
‘Not as much as it bothered you telling me.’
‘I’ve never told anyone before,’ he breathed into her hair. ‘I used to have nightmares about it.’
‘And who comforted you then?’ she whispered.
‘Agnese...she was always there for me. She saw it happen too.’
‘And nobody went to the police?’
‘My father had too many friends in high places and corrupt connections within the police. My mother’s death was written off as a tragic accident and he got away with it. By the time I was old enough to do any different he was dead. But he would have killed anyone who stood as a witness against him, even if I had been the witness,’ he explained heavily. ‘That was his life. That is the kind of environment that I grew up with and it is exactly those experiences that made me swear that I would never ever be like my father in any way.’
‘And you’ve lived up to that promise,’ Jemima reminded him quietly. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘Yes, piccolo mia.’
‘So, you should be proud of what you have achieved and celebrating your success,’ Jemima told him, shifting her hips in the hope of giving his thoughts a different direction.
Being highly suggestible, Luciano lifted his tousled head with a sudden smile and kissed her again with all the pent-up fire of his hot temperament. She smiled up at him, satisfied that she had finally got behind his barriers, broken through the hard shell to the real man within. He didn’t have to love her to confide in her. Somehow at that instant it seemed more than sufficient compensation.
