Читать книгу His Convenient Wife - Diana Hamilton - Страница 6

MARRYING Aldo Patrucco had been the biggest mistake of her life, Cat told herself for the millionth time as she stood in front of the tall window at the top of the villa, staring out at the rolling Tuscan hills shimmering in the haze of afternoon heat.

The panoramic view might once have entranced her. But the gentle purple hills, silver olive groves and scattered ochre-coloured farmhouses, the ubiquitous punctuation marks of the cypress trees merely emphasised her isolation, her frustration and misery.

The villa—every luxury provided…well, that went without saying in a Patrucco residence—reputedly built for the Medici family way back in the middle ages, had been her prison for two long months, since shortly after her miscarriage back in June.

Apart from his twice-weekly dutiful phone calls she’d had no contact with Aldo; he’d used his excuse of ‘Rest and Recuperation’ to get her away from the house in Florence, out of his sight, masking his disappointment in her failure to carry his heir to full term with an unconvincing display of polite concern for her well-being.

Leaving him free to be with his mistress.

He was cold. Heartless. Unreachable. Except…

Except she’d once been so sure he hadn’t been like that at all, that she could somehow reach his heart.

But he hadn’t got a heart, had he? Just an efficient machine, like a calculator.

As it too often did, her mind slid back with humiliating ease to that fatal night when she’d first met him. Only eleven months ago but it seemed like a lifetime now.

Dinner at eight. True to her intention to grit her teeth and make an appearance, to present a dignified front, she’d dressed in the soberest garment she owned. A peacock-green crêpe shift that skimmed her generously curved body and left her arms bare. Her make-up discreet, her unmanageable hair somehow tamed, drawn back from her face and painstakingly secured with a black velvet bow at her nape.

‘Caterina—’ There’d been such a note of pride in her grandfather’s voice as he’d risen from a leather club chair in the study as she’d walked into the room with her head high, but his introduction was lost on her as Aldo Patrucco got to his feet.

Over six feet of superbly dressed Italian male, a strong, harshly handsome face, his features shimmering out of focus because it was the look in those bitter-chocolate eyes that entrapped her.

She’d seen that look in men’s eyes before and had uninterestedly ignored it. Her one and only short-lived affair with Josh, a fellow student, in her final year at college had fizzled out with no regret on either side, and since then she hadn’t been remotely tempted.

But this hot, sultry branding held her as she’d never been held before, and her lips parted on a breathless gasp as his hard mouth curved in a slight, lazy smile just before he greeted her with easy Italian panache, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, a light kiss on her forehead, another just above the corner of her mouth.

Just the softest brush of his lips against her skin, but it was enough to make her shake, make her breathless, disorientated.

‘Ciao, Caterina.’ His voice slid over her like warm dark honey. She mumbled something and turned away to hide the heat that suddenly flared over her face. She preferred to be called Cat—it sounded sharper, definite, more like the self she knew herself to be—but Caterina, on his lips, sounded like magic.

Charm, she told herself, making no attempt to join in the ensuing conversation, which was being conducted in part Italian, part English. He could turn charm on like a tap. Obviously. So why was she feeling hot and bothered, overpowered, when she had to know that the way he had looked at her, as if he wanted to bed her right here and now, was just the stock-in-trade of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it? A man who was fully aware of his power over other people and used it.

The physical presence of the man filled the book-lined room with a dangerous sexual threat. A combination of a lean, powerful six-foot frame clothed in sheer Italian elegance, and that closely cropped black hair framing hard tanned features, that tough jawline and a mouth that could soften into a wicked, explicit promise whenever he looked her way made a tense, fluttery excitement curl in the pit of her stomach.

Cat rose with a sense of relief when Bonnie poked her head round the door to announce that dinner was ready, a relief that quickly turned into deep trepidation when Aldo rose to escort her, the palm of his long, lean hand hot against the small of her back, burning her. Burning her up with a sheet of wildfire that sizzled through her veins and made her feel light-headed.

No other man had ever affected her this way. She’d sort of fallen into her brief affair with Josh because he fancied her, was easy on the eye, and had been amusing company. And it had seemed to her that she was the only girl in her peer group not in a relationship. But this feeling was entirely different. It was immediate, insistent. Shattering.

Seated opposite him, Cat didn’t know where to put herself, and Bonnie’s meal, beautifully cooked and presented as usual, was untouched on her plate. But the champagne Gramps had insisted on eventually loosened her tongue and Aldo’s dark eyes locked on to her soft mouth as he murmured, ‘You speak fluent Italian.’

‘I was brought up on it—my grandparents insisted.’ She drained her glass, feeling reckless, feeling more like herself. The situation was weird, like something out of an old and rather silly novel, but undoubtedly exciting. What woman wouldn’t be feeling as if she were permanently plugged into a conduit for live electricity when face to face with such a breathtakingly sexy, brain-blowingly gorgeous male who was here with the express intent of looking her over, deciding whether she was suitable wife material?

‘Caterina has always been made aware of her heritage,’ Domenico put in with an undertow of satisfaction, like a breeder demonstrating the finer points of his bloodstock to a possible purchaser.

Far from experiencing all that earlier outrage, Cat giggled softly as she watched the bubbles rise in the crystal flute as Aldo helped her to yet more champagne. ‘I have far more English blood in my veins than Italian,’ she argued softly, feeling those bitter-chocolate eyes on her and secretly wallowing in the sensation of feeling more truly alive than she had ever done before.

Aldo leaned back in his chair, his eyes hooded now as they roamed from the crown of her glossy chestnut head, over her milky white skin and down to the lushly rounded breasts beneath the soft covering of fine fabric, the explicit shafts of golden light in the veiled depths making her blush as he murmured, ‘With your colouring, your grace, you could be Veneziana, and I hear from Zio Domenico that your temperament is fiery, pure Italiana, with nothing of the phlegmatic English.’

‘And could you cope with that, signor?’ she dared, green eyes sparkling through a thick sweep of dark lashes as she thrust the agenda out into the open, wondering if such exposure would wrong-foot this supremely self-assured male, unprepared for and wantonly excited by his softly drawled comeback, the slow and decidedly rakish grin that made her pulse flutter.

‘I am quite sure I could. With much pleasure.’

His purring, silken response filled her head with X-rated images. Married to him, enjoying him. His mouth on hers, giving her the heaven it had so far only promised, his hard, honed naked body covering hers, demanding, taking, possessing… It would be criminally easy to give him exactly what his eyes told her he wanted and then ask him for more!

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his; he mesmerised her, turned her blood to fire, filled her with aching need. And her breathing was going haywire, her pulse throbbing as Domenico rose to his feet, satisfaction in his voice after following their exchange as he announced softly, ‘You must excuse me. I am an old man and retire early. Caterina, why don’t you show Aldo where you work and give him coffee?’

Which was what she needed, yet didn’t need at all. She wanted to be alone with him and yet the prospect scared her witless. She didn’t trust herself around this man, she didn’t trust herself at all and yet the prospect was heady, electrifying, disturbingly exciting.

Aldo stood and turned to speak to her grandfather, his voice low-pitched. Cat wasn’t listening and she didn’t look at him either. It wasn’t safe.

Looking at him, drowning in that warm, honeyed voice short-circuited her brain. She needed to come down out of fantasy land and plant her feet firmly on the ground, put her brain in gear and tell him she knew exactly why he was here.

Tell him he didn’t need to waste any more of his doubtlessly precious time looking her over because the idea of their marriage was a non-starter.

And yet…

Angrily, she squashed the treacherous beginnings of a mental veer in the opposite direction, the shafting thought that it would be much too easy to fall helplessly in love with this man, that marriage to him would be a challenge, exciting, endlessly rewarding.

Indulging in wild fantasies was alien to her, alien, unwanted and unnecessary. It was time she did something about it, put a stop to all this nonsense. Laying down her napkin, she, too, got to her feet and said stiltedly, ‘Bonnie will bring coffee, signor; I’ll ask her on my way out. So I’ll say goodnight, too, Grandfather. I’m sure your guest has no desire to see a workshop.’

‘I have every desire, Caterina.’ The silken stroke of his voice made every muscle in her body tighten. His stress on that word ‘desire’ left her in no doubt that he wasn’t referring to her work benches and tools. And the gleam in his eyes as he let them drift lazily over her taut body terrified her. Already she had a violently insane need to get closer, to loop her arms around those wide, immaculately clad shoulders and submit the soft, melting femininity of her body to his hard domination.

She had to be losing her mind! Resisting the impulse to cover her burning face with her shaking hands, Cat made a strenuous mental effort to pull herself together.

She was free, she was independent, she had her work and she loved it. She was passionate about everything she had, and had no intention of accepting a hand-picked husband, selected and presented in cold blood.

It was her misfortune that the man in question was sexier than any man had a right to be. What she was experiencing was lust, she reminded herself tartly. Just lust. All the more shattering because she’d been celibate for a long time, ever since she and Josh had broken up before the end of their final year at college.

Having been left with no other option, Cat led the way over the cobbled yard, picking her way carefully on the uneven surface. The security lights were on but she was used to striding around in flat shoes and jeans or flowing, colourful skirts, and the skirt of the dress she was wearing was narrow and tight and her heels, although restrainedly elegant, were too high.

She more than half expected him to slide an intimate hand around her waist on the pretext of steadying her slow and tottery progress but he did nothing of the sort. She didn’t know whether to feel glad about that or strangely deprived. Whatever, her heart was beating so violently she was sure it would burst out of her chest.

As always, the double doors opened easily at her touch and as she depressed the light switch Aldo remarked coolly, ‘You don’t lock your premises?’

Cat shrugged slim shoulders. ‘Sometimes. If I’m out for any length of time. Does it matter?’ Which was her way of saying, Is it any of your business?

‘It shows carelessness.’

Wow! His mood had changed quicker than she could bat an eyelash! Watching the lean grace of his beautifully clad body as he ignored her and walked further into the studio, the way his long hands slid carefully over the thin sheets of silver laid out on one of the work benches, she felt sick with disappointment.

Oh, grow up! she snapped at herself. She couldn’t really want to fight a losing battle with him if he had brought that earlier covert seduction out into the open. Of course not. She should be deeply relieved that, away from her grandfather’s watchful eyes, he had reverted to what he truly was—cold and calculating.

He held up the garnet ear droppers she had been working on earlier, switching on the desk lamp and turning them to the light, examining the moulded silver settings before laying them carefully down again and going to stand in front of the open sketch book displaying her designs for future projects.

‘You have a certain talent.’ He turned to her, his hands on the narrow span of his hips. And then he lifted his impressive shoulders in a dismissive shrug. ‘Your grandfather tells me you sell your creations from a stall in a draughty, redundant church. You barely scrape a living.’

‘Don’t knock it!’ Cat’s eyes narrowed. How dared he dish out such a put-down? Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands, biting into the tender skin. Earlier she had wanted to kiss him; now she wanted to kill him! The effort of holding her temper in check made her words come out bitingly fast. ‘Everyone has to start somewhere. We’re not all lucky enough to be handed a ready-made thriving business empire at birth. One day I’ll have my own shop premises, a hand-picked team of craftsmen and women—’

‘When you get your hands on your inheritance?’ he slid in with insulting silkiness.

Cat’s face closed up. Had Gramps told him about her recklessly defensive message about selling those precious family shares to fund her own small business, thoughtlessly tossed out to stop him boring on about his wretched idea for an arranged marriage? Or had it been an astute guess?

Whatever, she had no intention of defending herself to this patronising monster. She didn’t want to get her hands on her inheritance, as he had callously put it, because it would mean that her beloved Gramps was no longer around and she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Her green eyes glittering with emotion, she spiked out, ‘Please leave. Now!’

‘So soon?’ The indolent tilt of one dark brow, his aura of sophisticated and total command, was probably meant to intimidate her. It might have done, had she let it. She didn’t.

‘Can’t be soon enough! You know where the door is.’

Unnervingly, his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘I also know I’m not leaving until we’ve thoroughly discussed your grandfather’s wishes. He is an old man, far from the country of his birth, estranged from his family. The least we can do is discuss the pros and cons of his suggestion. Even if we think it’s mad. Over coffee. This way?’

His dark head dipped towards the steep flight of wooden stairs that led to her living quarters. Cat ignored him. She bit her tongue to stop herself hurling verbal abuse at him as he mounted the stairs, arrogant self-confidence in every movement of his strong, supple body, then launched after him, kicking off her shoes and hiking her narrow, restrictive skirt above her knees.

Did he, too, think her grandfather’s scheme was crazy? Had he come all this way to humour a distant relative he had never met out of respect? Italians went a bundle on respect, didn’t they?

But the question flew out of her head as he reached the apartment well ahead of her, despite her best efforts in the scampering department. The door opened directly into her living room. She had left a table lamp burning and the room just looked like comfortable chaos. But when he found the main light switch and depressed it the room looked like a squalid hovel.

And Aldo, standing in the middle of the muddle, was so beautifully groomed and immaculate. The contrast made her cheeks flame with embarrassment. The velvet bow that had held her hair in check fell off. She heard it hit the floor behind her just before the riotous chestnut tangle tumbled around her shoulders. And she was still holding her skirt above her knees. She dropped the hem immediately and said starkly, ‘Coffee?’ and picked her barefoot way through to the tiny kitchen, avoiding the piles of trade magazines and glossies, the pile of curtains she’d laundered but hadn’t got around to re-hanging and the heap of work clothes she’d got out of before going through to shower and change earlier this evening.

When she was working, deeply engrossed in a new project, she forgot to be tidy, forgot everything. But no way would she explain or make excuses to this so obviously superior being, who probably had an army of servants to keep everything around him picture perfect plus one in reserve just to iron his shoelaces.

Thankfully, he didn’t follow her to the kitchen to sneer at the empty baked-bean tin with the spoon still in it. There’d been nothing else for breakfast because she’d forgotten to shop and the Belfast sink was over-flowing with unwashed dishes, but at least she did have decent coffee.

When she carried the tray through he had his back to her. He was studying the framed prints that broke the severity of the white-painted walls. Nudging aside a bowl of wilting roses, she set the tray down on the low table that fronted the burnt-orange-upholstered small sofa then stood very straight, dragging in a deep breath.

Time to get the show on the road. Throw Gramps’s stupid idea straight out of play and get on with the rest of her life. The old man would be deeply disappointed, she knew that, and would probably carry through his threat to disinherit her, but she could handle that.

‘So you think my grandfather’s idea of an arranged marriage is mad,’ she stated for starters, carefully keeping her voice level, non-confrontational as she waited for his robust confirmation of what he’d said earlier. And watched him turn, very slowly.

‘Not necessarily.’ His lean features betrayed nothing. ‘It was idle supposition on my part—on your behalf. Do you really think I would have come this far if I’d thought the idea had no merit?’ He strolled with an appallingly fluid grace to where she was standing. ‘Shall I pour, or will you?’

The question didn’t register. Cat’s mouth ran dry, her lips parted. She gasped for air; she felt she was being suffocated. From his attitude since they’d taken leave of her grandfather she’d drawn the conclusion that he’d been humouring the old man, had as little intention as she did of entering into an arranged marriage. Now it seemed the game was back on. It was a deeply terrifying prospect.

Though why that should be she couldn’t work out. No one could force her to marry anyone!

‘Your silence tells me you don’t care either way. About who should pour the coffee.’ A strange satisfaction threaded through his voice and curved his lips. Cat’s eyes went very wide as they locked on to that sinfully sexy mouth. Her own lips felt suddenly desperately needy and she was hot, much too hot; she could spontaneously combust at any moment!

The silence was stinging; it gathered her up and enclosed her with him, very tightly, and there was no escape. Her flurried gasp of relief was completely involuntary when he finally broke the awful tension and turned to pour the coffee.

Taking his own cup, he angled his lean body into one corner of the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, the sleek fabric caressing the taut muscles of his thighs like the touch of a lover.

Cat gulped thickly. Her thoughts were so wicked! She had to blank them, and when he glanced at the vacant space beside him and invited softly, ‘Shall we talk?’ she shied away, wrapping her arms around her trembling body, and had to force herself to say, ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ because the temptation to join him, sit intimately close, was enormous.

And very, very dangerous!

‘No? No opinions?’ he queried softly, his honeyed tone giving her goose bumps. The look in his eyes as they fastened on her hectically coloured face made her stop breathing. ‘Then I’ll give you mine, shall I?’

Cat forced herself to move, to give a slight, careless shrug before she picked her way over to a vaguely throne-like chair she’d picked up one Sunday afternoon at a car-boot sale. It’s slightly vulgar ostentation had amused her but it was supremely uncomfortable.

Aldo was watching her, his eyes hooded, looking smoky. Seated, Cat kept her eyes firmly on her bare toes. He could spout opinions all night but that didn’t mean she needed take the slightest notice of them.

But her heart was beating uncomfortably fast as he raised his arms and laced his hands behind his head and told her, ‘I have nothing against arranged marriages, all things being equal. Up until now I’ve been too busy to consider marrying. I confess to never having been in love, and unlike most of my compatriots,’ he added drily, ‘I consider the condition to be vastly overrated. It dresses the basic human need to procreate in romantic flummery.’

Cat’s eyes shot up from the anodyne contemplation of her toes to lock with his. ‘So you don’t believe in love,’ she challenged. Her eyes gleamed. ‘Bully for you! I bet you a dime to a king’s ransom the right woman could teach you differently!’

Brilliant dark eyes sparked with pinpricks of golden light at her husky outburst but his voice was cool when he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘As far as I’m concerned, marriage is a serious matter. An heir is necessary. Any wife I choose would have to be intelligent, good to look at, have her feet firmly on the ground—no girlish claims to be madly in love with me because such emotional demands would merely make life difficult. Besides all this, I would need her to bring something of substance to the marriage. Family honour as well as sound financial sense demands that much.’ He brought his hands down, his beautifully cut jacket settling back against his upper body with exquisite, unruffled elegance. ‘I think you qualify on all counts.’

‘Especially Grandfather’s shares,’ she said on a dry snap. ‘Couldn’t you offer to buy them off him—twist his arm or something? You could save yourself a whole heap of trouble.’ If what he’d been saying was supposed to be a proposal then it was the coldest, most calculating one any woman was ever likely to hear. It deserved her utmost contempt. It showed in the green glitter of her eyes, in the tight downturn of her generous mouth.

Water off a duck’s back as far as Aldo was concerned, apparently. He expanded his argument fluidly. ‘Perhaps Domenico would agree to sell; perhaps not. But I have no intention of going down that road. Why should I when I can kill three birds with one stone? One,’ he ticked off on his long, tanned fingers, ‘I secure those possibly rogue shares for the family, where they belong. Two, I get a beautiful and intelligent wife, and three, I get an heir. And as far as you’re concerned, you get a pampered lifestyle, more financial security than you’ve ever dreamed of—’

‘I don’t need it!’ Distraught, Cat shot to her feet, her breasts heaving. Listening to this man—this…this sex-on-legs—talking of marriage as if it were a cold business arrangement was the last thing she wanted. ‘I don’t want your empty wealthy lifestyle—I want my own life, warts and all. I’m a big girl, signor; I can stand on my own feet, or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘Oh, I noticed,’ he countered, smooth as cream. He rose to his feet and sauntered towards her and she gritted her teeth. He had too much style. He was too much altogether. And this close she could see those intriguing golden lights deep within his eyes, breathe in the elusive male scent of him, and her mouth fell open on a trembling gasp as he whispered seductively, ‘You truly are a big girl.’ His eyes slid down and lingered on her breasts, which annoyingly responded to this devastating no-touching slide of seduction. ‘But only, I assure you, in all the most enticing places.’

‘Don’t!’ Cat’s command came out on a tortured whisper. When he turned on the sex, flooded his voice with it, she went to pieces.

He was lethal!

‘Why not? It’s a bonus.’ Another movement, a step closer.

His black eyes looked drugged as he lifted them slowly from her shamelessly peaking breasts and fastened them on her softly trembling mouth as she muttered defensively, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

‘Yes, you do.’

The tension was making her shake, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. The sheer sexual power of the man overwhelmed her. She wanted to fight it but didn’t know how.

‘A wife who would excite me in bed would be a bonus. Yes?’ The soft huskiness of his voice was an unbearable intimacy; it made the blood pound in her ears and her whole body burn. He was much too close. She stared at him wildly. She had to put more space between them. At any moment she could find herself grabbing him, pulling his head down to discover if the promise of that so sensual mouth was capable of delivery.

Cat tried to move but her legs were so weak she could only sway. Aldo’s hand slid to her shoulder to steady her and an electric storm fizzled through every cell in her body and her eyelids closed helplessly as his knowing fingers stroked the heated skin of her naked shoulder before it brushed with wicked intimacy over the tingling peaks of her aching breasts.

‘And you would be excited, too. We would be dynamite together. I feel it and so do you. Yes?’ His hands curved over her hips as he gently tugged the span of her against the hardness of him and the shattering excitement that flooded her produced a ragged sound, halfway between a gasp and a moan. As he lowered his sleek dark head to stifle the sound at source, her arms snaked around his neck, and her last coherent, triumphant thought as he plundered her avidly responsive mouth was a repetition of what she’d said to him earlier—I bet you a dime to a king’s ransom the right woman could teach you differently!

The sounds of a muted commotion in the courtyard far below brought Cat out of her thoughts of the past. Blinking the film of moisture from her eyes, she peered down. At the sight of Aldo’s silver Ferrari her heart leapt and twisted like a landed fish then dropped with heavy lifelessness to the soles of her bare feet as he exited, and walked round to the passenger side to hand out his mistress.

Three members of staff were milling around in excited welcome at their beloved master’s unexpected arrival. Cat willed him to look up to where she was standing, to appear remotely interested in her whereabouts. But he didn’t glance towards the villa. His attention was all for Iolanda Cardinale, who was clinging to his arm, her sleek, elegantly clothed body leaning possessively into his, her ripe lips parted with sultry promise.

Fighting nausea, Cat forced herself to creep down the spiral staircase to her suite of rooms. She was going to have to act her socks off if she was going to be able to pretend she could accept the situation.

Pride wouldn’t allow her to let either of them see how desperate she was. Love and sexual fidelity hadn’t been part of the bargain on his part, had it?

As her English grandmother would have said, ‘You’ve made your bed, girl. Now you must lie on it.’