Читать книгу The Delicious De Campos - Дженнифер Хейворд - Страница 13
ОглавлениеTHE BALLROOM OF the historic hotel near Central Park glittered with light, muted laughter and a sense that time hadn’t really moved on—it was just different souls passing through it.
Lilly stood at the entrance with Riccardo and took in the ambience with that same feeling. Massive chandeliers five feet in width still dominated the room, still exuded the elegance of decades past, the band was timelessly tasteful, filling the space with rich classical music, and the black-coated wait staff could have been from any time period. It was her that was different. Once she had walked in here with naive, trusting eyes that had seen only the sparkling beauty of so much loveliness in one place. Now she saw it for what it was—a backdrop for the rich and powerful, a symbol of how beauty could destroy and disfigure.
If you let it.
Her gaze shifted to the long runway that ran the center of the room. In an hour she would be up there, modeling Antonia Abelli’s dress. If she didn’t throw up first. It was a distinct possibility.
Heads turned. The open stares began. Her fingers dug into Riccardo’s forearm as the room seemed to ignite with speculative conversation. The press had been all over them since the divorce party, coming up with a multitude of creative, vicious angles as to why they were back together. Lilly was pregnant—thus her “added pounds,” one tabloid had said. Riccardo had had his fill of his mistress and wanted to start a family, said another. Worst of all had been the dirt they’d dug up on poor Harry Taylor—a former girlfriend citing his low libido as the reason Lilly had left him.
Riccardo looked down at her. “Just ignore them,” he said quietly. “Ignore the rubbish they say and be true to yourself.”
Lilly wished she had just an ounce of his self-confidence right now—or his supreme ability to focus on what was important and let everything else go.
“Let’s get a drink,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist. She leaned into him and allowed herself to absorb the innate strength that had once made her think nothing and no one could ever hurt her.
How wrong she’d been.
They procured martinis at the bar and were soon caught up in a rolling series of conversations with people eager to see if the rumors were true. Were the De Campos really back together?
Lilly tried to focus on the conversation, but the closer it got to nine o’clock and the fashion show the weaker her legs felt. She could feel the cold, assessing looks being thrown her way by the socialites who had claimed the limelight in her absence. And her stomach started to churn.
Riccardo shot her a look with those perceptive eyes of his, warning her to liven up. But Lilly was finished with the acting job she’d done for years. He wanted her as a wife? Then he was getting the real Lilly—not some plastic, manufactured replica of herself.
“Riccardo!”
The shrill voice of an outrageously beautiful blond just about took her ears off. About her own age, and so delicate a puff of wind might blow her away in her silver lamé dress, she threw herself into Riccardo’s arms and landed a big kiss on either cheek before Lilly could blink.
Riccardo set the diminutive blond down, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Always a dramatic greeting, Victoria.”
A rough-hewn, handsome man in a tux stepped up to shake his hand and clap him on the back. “She always did prefer you, De Campo.”
Riccardo smiled—a guarded smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alessandro Marino. This is the last place I’d expect to see you.”
“My wife.” Alessandro inclined his head with a rueful look. “We had a family wedding in the city. And of course my fashion-obsessed wife couldn’t miss this.”
Riccardo pulled Lilly forward, his hand firm at her back. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Lilly, this is Alessandro Marino, my former teammate, and his wife Victoria.”
Lilly felt his fingers digging into her back. Surprised, she looked up at his face. He looked firmly in control, as always, but there was a tightness in his face that belied his easy smile. Alessandro Marino. It hit her. The man who had taken Riccardo’s place as the star of TeamXT. She’d seen a cover story on him recently. He’d been described as “unbeatable.”
Alessandro leaned forward and pressed a kiss to both her cheeks. His wife followed suit.
“So you’re the woman stupid enough to walk out on Riccardo...” Victoria stood back, giving Lilly a once-over, her blue eyes assessing her as thoroughly as she might a prize filly. “Another few months and you might have been out of luck, with all those women lining up to catch him when he fell.”
“Victoria.” Alessandro bit out the word. “Not appropriate.”
His wife shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“How is the wine business?” Alessandro asked Riccardo. “De Campo’s doing well.”
“We had a good year. And you,” he said, nodding at the other man. “You’re at the top of the pack. Congratulations.”
Alessandro shrugged. “You left big shoes to fill. No one is a daredevil like you, De Campo. I had to work on my style.”
“Well, it’s obviously working.”
“He was the best, you know.” Alessandro flicked a glance at Lilly. “He’d have a couple championship titles by now if he’d stayed.”
Lilly nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
Racing had always been a taboo subject with her and Riccardo. Anytime she’d brought it up her husband had shut down. As he looked like he was about to do right now, judging by the granite-hard expression on his face.
Their conversation with the Marinos deteriorated into an awkward, stilted back and forth that Lilly escaped as soon as she could with a trip to the ladies’ room. When she returned to her husband’s side he excused himself from the group of men he was speaking to and took her arm.
“Finished your little temper tantrum?”
“It wasn’t a temper tantrum. I’m bored, and I’m tired about hearing how much women love you. I get it.”
“Then why is smoke coming out of your ears?” He exerted pressure on her arm until she followed him through the crowd.
“Why didn’t you defend me?” she burst out. “Why didn’t you say something, like, Good thing I’m madly in love with my wife, or anything that would have made me feel less like an idiot?”
“What do you care? This is just an act for you, isn’t it?”
She glared up at him. “I don’t care. What bugs me is that all these people think we’re back together and madly in love and you’re letting her get away with that. You always do with women who fall all over you. You eat it up, Riccardo. You get that same look on your face like you had when you were standing on the podium splashing champagne over everyone after winning a race.”
His jaw tightened. “All men like attention, Lilly. Especially when you get none from your wife.”
Oh. She swung away from him before she hit him. “Is it unrealistic to expect you to stand up for me? You never reassure me. It’s humiliating.”
He led her onto the dance floor. “You know what’s humiliating? Me having to tell everyone we know you’ve left and not knowing what to say because I didn’t know why.”
She absorbed that as he pulled her into his arms and wrapped his fingers around hers. “You brought it on yourself, Riccardo. Don’t try and make me feel bad for you. One week with me out of the house and you were probably acting like ‘Ravishing Riccardo’ again.”
His gaze sharpened at her use of the tabloid nickname for him. “You have a wicked mouth—you know that, cara?”
She stared mutinously at his chest as he pulled her closer. So he’d had to answer some questions about why she’d left? It couldn’t possibly have matched the jealousy and humiliation she’d felt every time he’d left the house without her, wondering if he was with Chelsea. Wondering why she wasn’t enough for him.
She studied his hard, proud profile. Maybe it hadn’t been right for her to run as she had. She was sure it had been a knock to his pride for a man who was built around pride and honor, who had a public image to uphold, to admit his marriage had failed. But if she’d stayed in that house one more day she would have cracked in half.
Guilt lanced through her. “What did you tell them, then, when they asked where I was?”
He looked down at her, his expression cold and forbidding. “I told them we were taking some time off. And I let them talk. It was our business, not theirs.”
“And you think I should do the same?”
“Let them think what they want. They can’t hurt you if you don’t let them.”
“Have you ever read what they say about me?” she challenged. “Even once?”
“I don’t have time to read those rags.”
Her mouth tightened. “Today they called my figure ‘less than fashionable’ and insinuated I was pregnant.”
“So what?”
So what? She clamped her mouth shut before she said something she’d regret.
“You need to recognize jealousy for what it is,” he said impatiently. “They want to be you. That’s why they try and tear you down.”
She gave him a vicious look. “What would you know about it? You’re Mr. Perfect. You have an affair and it only makes you sexier to them.”
His eyes went so black she took a step backward. His fingers tightened around hers, drawing her forward in a slow, deliberate movement that wouldn’t attract attention. His tone as he pinned her to the spot with his gaze was ice-cold. “Get over this obsession, Lilly. I did not cheat.”
She swallowed back the nausea that circled her insides like a shark waiting to pounce. Eight time-lapse photographs didn’t lie.
“I want to go.”
“Well, we’re staying. This is what you signed up for.”
She hated him. At that moment she hated him as she’d never hated anyone in her life. “We should never have done this,” she murmured huskily. “Look what we’re doing to each other.”
“We should have done this a long time ago,” he disagreed roughly. “My big mistake was giving you time and space when what you really needed was for someone to shake some sense into you.”
Her throat tightened. “What does it matter? We’re past fixable.”
A hard light glittered in his eyes. “That remains to be seen.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She lifted her gaze to his. “This is a short-term solution, Riccardo. You become CEO and we’re done.”
It was as if her words bounced off his Teflon coating. His expression was inscrutable as he regarded her from beneath lowered lashes. “Matty told me I was a bad husband today.”
Her mouth dropped open. “He did?”
“I expect I have been at times.”
“At times?” Lilly was past being diplomatic. “That last year you couldn’t have cared if I was on Mars as long as I showed up for whatever social function you dictated I appear at. So I could charm the Mayor or sweet-talk a difficult client.”
He frowned. “That’s an exaggeration. We supported each other. We were a team.”
“A team?” She let out a bark of laughter that made a couple near them stare. “If by ‘team’ you mean I supported you while you ran roughshod over my career every time it was inconvenient for you, then you’d be right.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Really? You know why I was late that night we had dinner with the owner of Jacob’s?” She waited while he paused, then shook his head. “Because I was consulting on the treatment for a little boy’s legs. A little boy who’d just lost his mother in a car accident. I was crushed, devastated by what had happened, and all you did when I told you was nod and tell me to get to the table before the appetizers got cold.”
“I did not. You did not tell me that story.”
Her mouth tightened. “Oh, yes, I did. You just couldn’t be bothered to listen. And you know what, Riccardo? I helped that little boy. I worked by his side for six months until he was walking again. I might not have been able to bring his mother back but I gave him the use of his legs back. And I’m damn proud of that.”
“And so you should be. Lilly, I’ve always thought what you do is amazing.”
“As long as it didn’t interfere with the grand plan,” she agreed bitterly. “With your obsession to win the CEO job.”
A dark flush spread across his cheekbones. “It’s my birthright to run De Campo. Why couldn’t you ever understand that?”
“I understand it matters to you to the exclusion of everything else in your life. Please forgive me if I don’t want to go along for the ride.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “It won’t last forever. Once I’m appointed CEO things will change.”
“It’ll never change. I think you left a piece of yourself on that racetrack, Riccardo. Nothing you do lives up to that, but you’ll never stop looking, needing that adrenalin.”
The color in his cheeks darkened to a deep, livid red. “Don’t try and play psychologist, Lilly. You’re not even close.”
But she knew she was. She could see it in his face. And finally she felt she was starting to understand him. “Your need for a challenge will always be there. And everyone around you suffers. Our kids would have suffered if we’d been foolish enough to have had them.”
“You know that would have changed things.”
“No, I don’t. We couldn’t even keep a dog alive, Riccardo. How would a child have worked?”
The stormclouds in his eyes turned black and dangerous. “That’s a ridiculous comparison. Brooklyn was a wild dog. There was nothing we could have done to prevent her death.”
She knew he was right. From the day they’d found Brooklyn, a German Shepherd puppy, injured on their street and taken her in, she’d never lost her lust for adventure or for chasing cars.
“You promised you’d train her,” she said roughly. “Just like you promised to be around more and you never were.”
His mouth flattened into a grim line. “You just can’t take your fair share for what happened, can you? You shut me out until I was tired of being verbally slapped in the face every time I walked through the door. And I’m the bad guy for not being around enough? You have a distorted view of the world, Lilly.”
The couple beside them suddenly seemed awfully close, their curious gazes on the two of them. Lilly waited until Riccardo had steered them away. “We can talk until we’re blue in the face but it isn’t going to change the things that were wrong with us.”
His fingers tightened around her waist. “Every marriage has its ups and downs. You work through them. You don’t run away.”
She swallowed hard. If only he knew how badly she’d tried to stick it out. To be what he needed.
His gaze burned into hers, radiating a warning that was impossible to ignore. “We are not over, Lilly.”
“We will be in six months.”
“And what a six months it’s going to be...” He lifted his chin. “Buckle up, tesoro, it’s going to be quite a ride.”
A shiver ran through her. The flicker of the gorgeous two-carat canary-yellow diamond he’d bought to replace the one she’d told him she’d lost shimmered where her hand rested on his shoulder. If he seemed angry now, it would be nothing compared to how he’d react if he knew the truth about what had really happened to the ring.
The organizer of the fashion show waved at her. Her heart lifted to her throat. She did not want to do this. The guillotine seemed preferable. But she nodded back at her. The sooner she did this the sooner it was going to be over.
“I have to go.”
The tremulous note in her voice drew her husband’s eye. He slid his fingers under her chin and drew her gaze up to his. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not.”
She waited for him to release her, but he pulled her closer instead, his eyes flashing as he anchored her against his hard, muscled length. “There was always one way to cure your nerves...”
Lilly started to protest, but he’d already brought his mouth down on hers. His palm cradled her jaw, holding her still while he explored the soft curves of her lips so thoroughly it felt as if he was memorizing them all over again. The heat that flashed between them was undeniable, as life-giving as it had been destructive. She told herself to stop, to end it, but it was impossible not to rise on tiptoes and kiss him back.
No one kissed like Riccardo. No one.
She stepped back, her gaze on his face, wanting him to feel as shaken, as flustered as she was. All she saw was a man still so firmly in control he looked as if he could have been carved out of stone. “Now you have color in your face,” he murmured, releasing her and giving her a tap on the behind. “Off you go.”
Confused, not sure which way was north and which was south, Lilly did as she was told, following the organizer, Kelly Rankin, to the temporary fitting rooms. Funnily enough, she did feel calmer.
Antonia Abelli stripped Lilly down to her underwear. “Buon Dio,” she breathed, casting a critical eye over the demure bra and panties Lilly had on. “Really?” She disappeared and came back with flimsy, lacy, non-existent underwear. She told Lilly to put it on. “They’re yours. Riccardo will thank me later.”
No, he wouldn’t. Lilly tried to tell herself that as she closed the curtain on the tiny little changing space and exchanged her own “nothing” underwear for the exquisite lace. This was not a real marriage. And she was definitely not sleeping with Riccardo.
“You need to give me the dress,” she told Antonia, peeking around the curtain. “I’m not going out there like this.”
The designer whipped the curtain away and gave her a critical look. “You look hot in those.”
“Yes, well—” She gasped as Antonia grabbed her arm and yanked her out. Shoulders slumping, cheeks on fire, she stood there, in the middle of all the pre-show chaos, a multitude of mirrors surrounding her, wanting to sink into the floor. Riccardo might have said he liked the changes, but there was too much flesh on her butt for comfort, and too much in her cleavage too, if the truth were told. And her thighs—well, they just looked big. She’d bet five of her extra pounds were there, as if she’d reached down and slapped a piece of chocolate cake on them.
“Turn,” Antonia ordered, whipping her around with firm hands.
Lilly did her best to ignore all the rail-thin women being dressed around her. But it was hard to because that was her ideal. That was what she thought she should look like.
“You have an unrealistic view of your body that has nothing to do with reality.” Her therapist’s words echoed in her ears. “You need to change the input you give your brain.”
She tried to look at herself objectively, but it was impossible to concentrate in the middle of a gazillion bodies racing around tucking people in, touching up hair and makeup and waving clipboards. She felt dizzy just watching them. Or was that because her chest felt so tight it was hard to breathe?
One pass down the runway, she told herself, pressing clammy palms together. That was all she had to do.
Antonia pulled the stunning white gown emblazoned with vibrant purple roses over her head and knelt to adjust the hem. Lilly’s eyes connected with a hard-looking blond’s in the mirror. “Hell,” she muttered, her throat tightening. Lacey Craig. Gossip columnist and bitch extraordinaire. The woman who’d begun the end of her marriage.
Lacey sauntered up. “Nice to have you back on the scene.”
Why? Because you missed having a punching bag? Lilly looked down at Antonia’s updo for fear she might lose it. Lacey had been the worst of the worst when it had come to her and Riccardo’s breakup. She’d splashed lurid details—some of them true, some of them not—across the pages of Manhattan’s most widely read tabloid. And would have done worse if Lilly hadn’t stopped her.
“You might want to watch the weight, though,” Lacey commented, running her gaze over her. “Wouldn’t want your sexy husband straying again.”
Antonia rose to her full five-foot-two inches and nodded at a security guard. “Get her out of here.”
Lacey shrugged. “Just a bit of friendly advice. You might have forgotten just how competitive the scene can be.”
As if Lilly could ever forget her husband’s infidelity. The room swayed around her, the floor tilting under her feet. Perspiration broke out on her forehead and she reached out an arm to steady herself against the wall. It must be a hundred degrees in here...
Antonia grimaced as the security guard ushered Lacey out. “Why can’t she ever behave?”
Lilly closed her eyes and told herself to focus. To put the nasty words out of her head and concentrate on getting through this. But visions of those photos flashed through her head like a film strip that wouldn’t stop. Riccardo in Chelsea Tate’s apartment, standing face-to-face with her in intimate conversation, his dark head bent to hers as he kissed her. Remembering the rest of the blurry series made her stomach churn anew.
Bile rose up in her throat. The sense of betrayal had been all-consuming. Had sucked her down into a cauldron of self-doubt so deep it had been impossible for her to climb out.
Antonia handed her some water. “Forget that horrible witch,” she murmured as she slipped a different pair of shoes on Lilly, then decided she liked Lilly’s own better with the dress. “You have a real woman’s body that most would die for.”
Lilly only barely registered the designer’s words. Lost in the world that had destroyed her, she twisted her hands together and stared down at the blindingly beautiful ring on her finger.
The stage manager called for the models. “You need to go,” Antonia said. “Keep your head up and don’t slouch. I’ve left the hem a bit long.”
She lined up behind the other women at the entrance to the stage, fourth in the queue, but she wasn’t really there. All she could see was the brilliant smile on Chelsea Tate’s face as she pulled Riccardo in for that kiss.
She ran the back of her hand across her damp forehead. The woman in front of her went out. The show director motioned that she was on.
“Go,” he said, giving her a nudge.
She stepped onto the runway. The lights blinded her. The beat of the music pounded in her ears. She started walking, but her legs were shaking so much it was hard to make any progress. The hundreds of faces in rows around the stage were a blur. The long catwalk stretched like an endless sea of white in front of her.
She stumbled, looked down to gauge where she was. Her gaze collided with a handsome blond man sitting in the front row.
Harry.
He smiled at her. She couldn’t move her lips out of their frozen curve. Of course he would be here. He worked for the hospital. Her gaze slid down the row to Riccardo, her stomach giving a sickening lurch. Had they talked to each other?
She forced herself to keep walking, but her trembling limbs made her misstep again. Her foot slid sideways in her shoe and she stumbled forward. What the—? she stuck a desperate hand out to steady herself, but the momentum of her body weight sent her careening off the side of the runway. A choked scream escaped her as the wooden floor rose up to meet her.
Bracing herself for impact, she felt the air hiss from her lungs as a pair of strong arms closed around her and hauled her in.
Winded and dazed, she stared up into the face of Harry Taylor.
“Hell, Lilly, are you okay?”
The pounding music made her head spin. The crowd gathering around her was claustrophobic.
She nodded. “I don’t know what happened. I—”
“Lilly—” Antonia pushed through the crowd, a horrified look on her face. “I forgot to do up your shoe.”
Lilly grimaced and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m fine. You can put—
“Her down.” Riccardo stepped in, his gaze not leaving Harry’s face.
No thanks for saving his wife from breaking a few bones. Not even a curt acknowledgement of what he’d done. Her husband stood glaring at Harry, his expression so dark Lilly was convinced most men would have dropped her and run.
But not Harry. He lowered her gently to the floor and held her steady as Antonia knelt and did up her shoe.
“You okay?” he asked again, keeping his hands on her arms until he was sure she had her balance.
Lilly nodded, humiliation washing over her until she wanted to shrivel up into a little droplet of water and disappear between the floorboards.
Kelly Rankin stepped forward. “I am so sorry, Lilly,” she murmured. “Are you okay to get back up there and continue?”
Riccardo slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “She’s had enough. Go on without her.”
Lilly’s humiliation degenerated into a slow, explosive burn. He had been the one to make her do this. He had insisted on her doing something she clearly wasn’t comfortable with. How dared he act so concerned?
If she didn’t get back up there and hold her head high she would never get over it. Pressing her lips together, she turned to Kelly. “I’m fine. Let’s do it.”
The organizer gave her a relieved look and went backstage. Harry stepped back and went to his seat. Lilly went on tiptoe and put her mouth to Riccardo’s ear. “Never, ever speak for me in public again.”
Then she turned and followed Antonia, leaving her stunned husband staring after her.
* * *
“Good for you, getting back up there.”
An attractive fifty-something brunette gave Lilly an encouraging smile as she touched up her lipstick in the ladies’ room. “I’m not sure I would have.”
Lilly flashed her a polite smile. “Not much else I could do.”
The woman shrugged and tossed her perfume in her purse. “Well, you looked gorgeous. I hope you get to keep the dress.”
She did, in fact. Riccardo had it outside, in a monogrammed Antonia Abelli bag that also held her own less-than-spectacular underwear. Although she doubted she’d ever wear the dress again. Not after tonight. Not after she’d crashed and burned so spectacularly in it.
She nodded at the woman and left. No less than a dozen people had come up to her since the show had ended. It would have been more if Riccardo hadn’t acted as gatekeeper.
Her husband’s mood had gone steeply downhill since she’d ended up in Harry’s arms, and she’d been relieved at his suggestion they leave shortly after. Determined to avoid as many people as she could, she walked around the edge of the crowd toward the entrance.
“Lilly.”
Harry Taylor stood in front of her, a determined look on his face.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “More embarrassed than anything. Thank you for rescuing me.”
His gaze sharpened on her face. “You sure? You looked like a ghost up there—not like yourself at all.”
She nodded. “I’m fine, really. Just tired. We’re leaving now.”
He pulled at his tie and gave her a pained look. “You know I meant what I said the other day. I don’t think Riccardo is the right guy for you. And I’m always here if you need me.”
Lilly bit her lip. “Look, I shouldn’t be talking to you, Harry—Riccardo will hit the roof.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he pointed out, frowning. “Why should you have to worry about that? Dammit, Lilly, if that bastard starts treating you badly I swear I will—”
“What?”
She spun around to find her husband standing behind them, a barely restrained look of violence on his face.
“What will you do, Taylor? I’d like to know.”
Harry stepped forward. He wasn’t a short man, but Riccardo had three inches on him easily. That didn’t seem to faze Harry as he stood toe to toe with him. “I will hold you accountable.”
Riccardo gave him a silky look. “My wife and I and our personal life are none of your business. Accept the fact that you never stood a chance, Taylor.”
Harry’s face turned bright red. Lilly stared as a man who never lost control balled his hand into a fist and sent it arcing toward her husband’s face. Riccardo’s reflexes, honed by years as a competitive athlete, were lightning-fast and he caught the other man’s wrist in his hand before it connected.
Light exploded around them. Lilly looked up to see a half-dozen cameras pointed at them. Oh, my God. How could this be happening?
“Guys,” she pleaded, pulling on Riccardo’s arm. “Stop.”
Her husband dropped his hand away but stayed toe to toe with Harry. “You come near my wife again and I will take you apart piece by piece.”
Harry lifted his chin. “You don’t scare me, De Campo. You—”
“Harry!” Lilly had the hysterical thought that if he’d acted more like this—more manly, more aggressive—he might have done it for her. She took a deep breath and gave both men a level look. “We are leaving. Goodnight, Harry.”
* * *
Riccardo drove home like he was on a racecourse instead of in the middle of Manhattan, and was shocked when no police officer appeared to pull him over. Lilly was out of the car and flouncing up the walkway before he came to a complete stop in their driveway, but she’d forgotten he was the only one with keys and had to cool her heels while he parked and strolled leisurely up to the door. She stood back while he inserted his key and pushed it open, then swept by him, her head held high, fury in her hazel eyes. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she charged upstairs without another word.
His own safety valve about to blow, he walked into his study and poured himself a Scotch. “I don’t think Riccardo is the right guy for you...” Taylor’s smug pronouncement: “I’m always here if you need me.” His blood burned in his veins, snaking through him like a river of fire. Taylor was there in the wings, waiting for her. Waiting for him to screw up. And what had he done to deserve it?
He took a swig of Scotch and stifled the urge to go back there and finish Taylor off. He was the only man Lilly was ever going to run to. He knew it and she knew it.
It was time he proved it to her.
He downed the Scotch in two gulps, slammed the glass down on the sideboard and took the stairs to their bedroom two at a time. When he arrived in the doorway Lilly was standing in front of the closet, her shoes in her hands. He sucked in a breath. She had taken her dress off and stood there in a very sexy, very skimpy lacy white panties and bra.
Desire slammed into him, hot and hard.
Lilly flicked her gaze over him, her cat eyes wary and defiant. “Get out.”
He shook his head and leaned back against the door frame. “I don’t think so.”
Her eyes grew larger—big, bottomless pools of amber and green he could lose himself in. Her spine stiffened as she turned fully to face him. She was afraid of him, and with a savage inner growl he acknowledged that he didn’t care.
He moved toward her, his steps slow and purposeful. “I warned you not to talk to him.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I fell off that runway because you insisted I model that dress. Harry just wanted to see if I was okay.”
His mouth twisted. “He wanted to remind you he’s still around.”
“Good thing he was, or who would have caught me?”
She knew her mistake the minute he stepped in to trap her against the door. “You think I’m never there for you, Lilly? Well, here I am.”
He could hear her agitated breathing, see the confusion and fire that swirled in her eyes. “Go to hell,” she blazed, her shoulders pressing back into the door.
“I’d rather go down on you,” he murmured, sliding the back of his hand over her rosy cheek. “I know how sweet you taste, tesoro. How much you love it when I— Ah—” He caught the hand she swung at him and twisted it behind her back. “Don’t do that.”
She bit out a curse and fought against his hold, but he held her firm. “Dammit, Riccardo, let me go.”
He dropped her hand and stepped in closer, until his body was pushed up against hers. “Time to talk in the only way we know how.”
She squirmed against him as he imprinted her with his brand of honesty—the hard, throbbing truth of his lust, which was quickly sending him over the edge. But she wasn’t being very convincing and he could hear how her breathing had quickened.
“Give it up, Lilly,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers. “We both know how this is going to end.”
She said something against his lips and he replied with a hard, bruising kiss that was about control, not pleasure. She’d always liked it when he dominated, and he knew that hadn’t changed.
She pressed her lips mutinously shut as he slid his tongue against the crease and demanded entry. Smiling at that, he trailed his hand down over the newly voluptuous curves of her breasts, over the nipple that jutted through the lacy material that covered her, and rolled the hard nub between his fingers. She made a sound low in her throat and twisted against him, but it wasn’t the movement of a woman who wanted to go anywhere. Her eyes were closed and her lips had softened, and when he swept his thumb over the hard tip and made it come to full erectness she sagged against him.
Melted into him.
He buried his hands in the thick swath of hair at the nape of her neck. Then he kissed her again, and this time she opened for him and let him take the kiss deeper, into an achingly intimate caress that told her exactly what he wanted to do to her with his tongue and with his body.
The broken sound that came from her throat told him the battle had been won.
“Basta,” he murmured. “Enough denying ourselves what we both want.”
Lilly pressed her hands back against the door as he ran his palm down the trembling flatness of her stomach. “Ric—”
He slid his hand underneath the silk that covered her and his fingers delved into the hot cleft between her thighs. She gasped and arched against his hand. A primal surge of heat flashed through him. She was wet—oh, so wet for him—and he nearly lost it right there. But he savagely yanked back his control and stilled his fingers to growl, “Tell me you love it when I touch you, tesoro.”
She nodded, but kept her eyes shut.
“Say it.”
“Dammit, yes. Please—”
“And I’m the only man who’s ever going to touch you like this?”
She moaned her assent. Satisfied, he slid his fingers against the warm silk of her and indulged his craving to touch her in every way possible.
Her sudden intake of breath and her hands against his chest took him off guard.
“Get your hands off me.”
He drew back. “Lil—”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Her voice rose in furious accusation. “Control. You being the only one to ever have me. Me doing what you want.”
He frowned. “You were as into that as I was.”
“I was being stupid. Stupid. How could I forget what this is all about? You—always you, Riccardo.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “Claiming what’s yours.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Her eyes glittered. “No, I’ve finally got my head back. Lord forbid I forget to keep my eye on the prize. You certainly haven’t.”
He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I am not something to be conquered,” she said thickly. “I am your wife. You just can’t understand that.”
“Lilly—”
“Get out.” Her face was a blotchy patchwork of red. “Get out or I will walk out of here and never come back, deal or no deal.”
Deciding there was no reasoning with her while she was in this state, he turned on his heel and left, hearing the door slam behind him.
He took a cold shower in the guest bedroom, letting the freezing water pound down on his shoulders. Was he demented for even attempting this plan of his? To want to make Lilly pay for everything she’d done to him? The humiliation she’d caused him? Because he wasn’t sure who was winning—her or him.
