Читать книгу Modern Romance December Books 1-4 - Эбби Грин, Линн Грэхем - Страница 16
ОглавлениеWHY AM I doing this? Isla asked herself as she looked up at Alissandru in the dim light filtering up from the hallway. And it was so simple she could’ve screamed at the answer when it slotted neatly into place inside her head. She wanted him, just the way he had said she did; she couldn’t control the craving, couldn’t drive it out of her treacherous body, either. That craving was there, simply there, and it rewrote in an instant everything she had ever thought she knew about herself.
He yanked loose the sash on the robe, spreading it open slowly as he leant over her, unwrapping her with a care that suggested she was a very precious parcel. She didn’t cringe the way she had at the croft, didn’t try to hide herself, either. Instead, she listened to the catch in his breath and watched his face as he looked at her breasts with fierce appreciation. His hands lifted to cup the full swells, his thumbs rubbing at the swollen pink peaks as he stole another kiss, and her hands plunged into his luxuriant hair, fingers filtering through the silky strands and then dropping to his shoulders, unsuccessfully trying to come between them to pull at his jacket.
‘I know... I know,’ Alissandru ground out in similar frustration, backing away to unceremoniously yank the jacket off and tug at his tie with thrilling impatience.
Isla lay there, all of a quiver with heat and desire, just watching him undress. They had made love in virtual darkness at the croft and this time she was hungry for the details and curious. He tossed condoms on the bedside table and their eyes met, his defensive, hers troubled and evasive, and he came down beside her and kissed her again then as if his whole life depended on it. Breathless, Isla squirmed at the sleek, hot, heavy weight of him and then she arched as his mouth closed over a swollen nipple, drawing on the sensitised tip until she felt as though fire raced between her breast and her pelvis, stoking the slow burn of need rising between her legs. It was an ache, a sweet, hollow ache she couldn’t bear.
‘Touch me,’ Alissandru said urgently, carrying her hand down over his hard, flat stomach.
And for a split second she froze, unsure of herself, afraid to do it wrong, and then she connected with the hunger in his intent gaze and she jerked as if he had lit a touchpaper inside her because it was the same hunger that drove her. Her hand stroked down the length and breadth of him. He felt like satin wrapped round steel but was infinitely more responsive, arching hungrily up to her touch.
Isla pressed him flat and lowered her head, closing her lips round him as she stroked, listening with helpless feminine amusement and satisfaction to the hoarse sounds and the ragged Italian words she dragged from him. A little more and he was dragging her up to him again, driving her lips apart with the hunger of his, twining his tongue with hers and delving deeper until she writhed against him, glancing into quite deliberate friction with the hard length of him.
‘I intended to go slow but I can’t wait. Madre di Dio, bella mia...what are you doing to me?’ Alissandru groaned, sliding teasingly against the tender flesh at her core.
Without even thinking about what she was doing, Isla tilted up her hips to receive him, and he began to slide home with a sinuous circling of his lean hips and then he froze and yanked himself back from her again to reach for the condoms by the bed.
‘What is it about you?’ he exclaimed in raw disbelief. ‘I almost forgot again and I swear never to make that mistake again!’
For a split second, Isla froze. That mistake... Their baby. Of course that was how he thought about that episode, and how could she blame him? An unplanned pregnancy with a woman he’d only intended to spend one night with? A big drama and a source of stress he could naturally have done without and he would be as keen as she to ensure that that oversight was not repeated. She could not understand why that sensible fact should make her feel so unbearably sad.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Alissandru grated as he came back to her and captured her reddened mouth hungrily with his. ‘It won’t happen again.’
That sensual assault unfroze her and mercifully threw her back out of her unhappy thoughts. She could think of nothing but Alissandru as he drove into her with potent energy and an unashamed groan of satisfaction, thrusting home to the very heart of her and sending such a jolt of stark pleasure through her that she cried out, her face warming in the aftermath. Sensation gathered with his every slick invasion, the tightening bands of muscle in her pelvis increasing the waves of excitement gripping her.
‘Don’t stop...oh, please, don’t stop!’ she gasped at the height of a spasm of pure bliss when her very existence seemed to depend on his next virile lunge and her heart was thumping so hard and fast she was breathless.
She hit the heights even faster in an explosive climax that threatened to jolt the very bones from her body, so all-encompassing was the experience. Sweet paroxysms of exquisite pleasure eddied out from her exhausted body and cocooned her in melting relaxation.
Alissandru cradled her in his arms, shell-shocked in the aftermath. Just as in their very first encounter, sex with Isla was sublime but he wasn’t going to think about that, wasn’t going to question anything, anything at all, he instructed himself grimly. A kind of peace, a peace that had evaded him for long torturous weeks, enclosed him.
‘I didn’t even ask you if it was okay...us making love again.’ Alissandru registered that omission in dismay.
Isla sighed. It was fine, nothing left to worry about.
* * *
He awoke in the early hours and for an instant could not even work out where he was, and then he looked down at Isla and began to slide out of the bed, making a real effort not to disturb her. If he woke her, she would fight with him about something and then everything would go to hell again, he thought grimly. No, he would be discreet and tactful, even if neither trait came naturally to him, but he was getting better, wasn’t he? He hadn’t even mentioned being bitten by the rabid midget dog, had he? He would return home before he was missed and he would send Isla flowers and possibly something sparkly, because she didn’t seem to own any jewellery beyond a watch and he wanted her to know how very much he appreciated being forgiven for his past excesses and awarded a second chance.
Isla woke up in a cocoon of contentment and then turned over and found Alissandru gone. She jumped straight out of bed, checked the bathroom and downstairs and realised with an angry stab of disbelief that he had walked out on her again...as if she was nothing, as if she was nobody, a one-night stand he could dismiss as soon as dawn folded in!
It was a painful moment of truth for Isla.
Alissandru had used her for sex. But hadn’t she used him, too? She freshened up in the shower, her body tender and sensitised beneath her fingertips, and she thought of how he had woken her somewhere in the darkness of the night and made love to her again slowly and silently, but still with that dangerous, exhilarating edge of wildness that seemed to drive his passionate nature. Afterwards he had held her close, and she had felt sleepily, unquestioningly happy and secure.
Why did he have that effect on her when he had already done more to damage her self-esteem and hurt her than any man alive? Did her brain switch off when he was around? Did she have so little pride?
In the light of day, coming to terms with what had happened between them challenged her. She had wanted him and he had wanted her and it had seemed gloriously, wonderfully simple the night before. They weren’t hurting anyone else, he had pointed out, but what about how she was being hurt? Losing their baby had already hurt her more than enough for one lifetime. Sleeping with Alissandru again would complicate their relationship even more.
Why wasn’t she dealing with the reality that she had developed more feelings for Alissandru than was safe in such a scenario? He only wanted sex. Maybe that volatile temper of his spurred his lust for her but lust didn’t amount to much, did it? It wasn’t feelings, it wasn’t caring...
Was that what she was looking for and had hoped to find with him? When she was at the point of tearing her hair out by the roots with frustration over her distinctly confusing reactions to Alissandru, Constantia arrived at the front door with Puggle.
Isla was as wreathed in blushes as a shamefaced teenager at being confronted by Alissandru’s mother the morning after the night before. She invited the older woman in for coffee, apologised profusely for the messy kitchen and grabbed a tray to carry the cups out to the pretty terrace that overlooked a rather overgrown garden at the back of the house. Once there she concentrated on practicalities and asked if there were any local charities who might welcome a donation of clothes and things. Constantia was very helpful, and she asked Isla about her friendship with Paulu, visibly relaxing over the freedom to talk about her late son.
‘Your sister made my son very, very happy,’ the older woman said quietly. ‘At times she also made him very unhappy but I am grateful for the happiness he did find with her.’
‘Did you get to know Tania well?’ Isla asked curiously.
‘No. I was her mother-in-law and she was wary of me, fearful that I might be the interfering type. I’ve never been in this house before,’ Alissandru’s mother confided, startling Isla. ‘Your sister would never have invited me in. She guarded her privacy fiercely.’
‘I didn’t get to know her well at all because she wasn’t the confiding type and I can hardly blame her for that when I was so much younger,’ Isla conceded ruefully.
‘She was very independent, possibly because she was making her own living from an early age,’ Constantia remarked reflectively. ‘Alissandru and Tania clashed from day one but that was inevitable with them both being such strong-willed individuals.’
‘I clash with Alissandru, too,’ Isla heard herself confess and then was stunned that she had spoken so freely.
‘That won’t do him any harm.’ Constantia’s smile was warm with amusement. ‘Alissandru always thinks he knows best. He was the same in the nursery...bossy and bold.’
‘And quick-tempered?’ Isla prompted helplessly.
‘Oh, yes,’ Constantia agreed. ‘But the flipside of that was that he was also very honest and responsible. Paulu would’ve lied sooner than admit he had done something wrong but Alissandru was always fearless.’
When the bell went, Isla was mulling over that conversation while she guiltily cleaned the kitchen she had ignored the night before, but only because of Alissandru’s unexpected arrival, she reminded herself wryly.
She went to the door and received an exuberant arrangement of white flowers, all ready for display in a sparkling crystal vase. She didn’t need to read the card in the foliage but she opened it with compressed lips, scrutinising Alissandru’s initials with reluctant amusement. He was being very discreet because there was no message or proper signature to reveal the identity of the sender.
When the bell went a second time, she was filling bin bags with Paulu’s and Tania’s clothing while carefully checking pockets or bags for anything that should be retained. This time it was a man in a chauffeur-driven car who formally presented her with a gift-wrapped shallow box, clicked his heels with military precision and climbed back into the car. Once again she found an initialled gift tag and she rolled her eyes, ripping open the package with little ceremony as she stood in the kitchen, which was flooded with sunlight. A disconcerted look on her face, she flipped open the shallow jewellery case and the blinding sparkle of the diamond necklace within knocked her for six. She lifted it out, stunned by the shimmering rainbow glitter of the row of diamonds, and rage engulfed her in a flood.
Alissandru thought he could give her diamonds after spending the night with her? Some sort of payoff—a don’t-ring-me-I’ll-ring-you cop-out on decent behaviour? Well, he could take a flying jump off the edge of the planet!
She leapt into the hire car, Puggle accompanying her, and drove up to the palazzo, powered on the fuel of fury alone. The manservant, Octavio, whom Constantia had confessed ran her son’s household with the efficiency of the former soldier he had been, ushered her in and, when she requested Alissandru, escorted her at a stately pace along a corridor where he knocked on a door for her and then departed.
‘Avanti!’ Alissandru called.
Isla plunged over the threshold with the eagerness of a cavalry charge, stopping dead one foot in the door to press it closed behind her while glowering at Alissandru, who was seated behind a laptop at his desk.
‘Isla!’ he exclaimed as though she were a welcome, if unexpected, visitor.
He lunged upright, black hair untidy above startlingly bright dark golden eyes, a smile curving his sculpted mouth. He wore faded jeans and an open black shirt and was visibly in weekend relaxed mode. ‘To what do I owe the honour?’ he asked, feasting his attention on the vision she made in a rather shapeless grey linen shift, which should in his opinion have looked dowdy but which inexplicably merely set off her wonderfully vibrant hair and eyes and accentuated the grace of her slender limbs.
Unfortunately his dark deep voice, which was utterly seductive in the darkness of the night hours, acted on Isla like a flame thrower. ‘Thank you for the flowers,’ she told him curtly. ‘But no thank you for the jewels!’
As she slapped the jewel case loudly back on his desk, Alissandru stiffened and frowned at her, dark brows pleating, stunning eyes narrowing beneath his curling fringe of black lashes. ‘Cosa c’è che non va? What’s wrong?’ he demanded, taken aback by her mood.
‘If you spend the night with me, you don’t pay for it with diamonds!’ Isla informed him with fierce pride.
‘It wasn’t a payment, it was a gift,’ Alissandru contradicted with emphasis, studying her with frowning intensity, wondering how something so simple could be interpreted as something so wrong.
‘I don’t want gifts that expensive!’ Isla fired back at him. ‘I won’t accept them.’
‘Duly noted,’ Alissandru said drily. ‘But does a poor choice of gift really demand this vehement a refusal?’
Isla bridled, reluctant to go into what had made her so very angry, determined not to betray herself in such a way. ‘You offended me.’
‘Obviously,’ Alissandru conceded, marvelling that he had once believed she was a carbon copy of her infinitely more avaricious sister. ‘But it was a gift, a small sign of my appreciation for the night we shared.’
Isla gritted her teeth. ‘Staying around for breakfast would have been better received.’
‘But that would have been indiscreet and I did promise you discretion,’ he reminded her silkily. ‘If I’m home before dawn, nobody notices, but a later return attracts witnesses and I wasn’t sure that you would be comfortable with a more public unveiling of our intimacy.’
Hot colour washed Isla’s face in a slow, burning and very uncomfortable flush, because she didn’t want anyone on the Rossetti estate knowing about that ‘intimacy’. ‘I want last night to remain a secret,’ she told him without hesitation.
‘Not a problem,’ Alissandru agreed carelessly, stooping down to snatch up the document case that Puggle had dug his teeth into, contriving to lift both document case and dog together into the air.
Moving forward, Isla hurriedly detached Puggle and gave him a sharp word of reproof when he growled at Alissandru. ‘Give him some food and he’ll stop trying to bite you.’
‘What about discipline? Training?’ Alissandru suggested in wonderment. ‘Wouldn’t that be more sensible?’
‘Food is quicker and easier, but if I don’t watch out he’s going to get fat.’ Isla sighed.
Alissandru broke up a scone lying on the untouched tray to one side of his desk and dropped a chunk of it in front of Puggle. The little dog pounced on it with glee. There was good reason for Alissandru’s generosity. He didn’t fancy having to evade Puggle’s sneak attacks at night in Isla’s house.
‘Coffee?’ he proffered in the awkward little silence that had fallen.
‘No, not right now. I’m busy clearing the house and, since it’s not something I really want to be doing, I’d sooner get it done and finished,’ Isla admitted in a rush, turning away in an uncoordinated circle, wanting to escape, wondering how he had managed to turn the situation on its head so that she felt as though she were the unreasonable one. ‘I wondered what to do about Paulu’s desk and personal effects.’
‘If there’s nothing you want I’ll send someone over to collect them and bring them back here,’ Alissandru said gravely. ‘His desk is probably stuffed with estate paperwork and I should have that passed over to the new manager in case there’s anything of interest.’
‘Of course. Well, that’s something sorted.’ Isla wandered over to the window, which overlooked the wooded hills to the back of the house. ‘I’m planning to stay here for a few weeks.’
‘There’s no pressure on you to make a decision about what you’re doing or how long you’re staying,’ Alissandru hastened to declare, recalling how haunted she had been in the aftermath of the miscarriage and wondering how much of that regret she was still carrying.
‘This is sort of a holiday for me before I get back to the real world,’ Isla admitted.
‘And what does getting back to the real world entail?’ Alissandru asked, watching her as the sunlight gilded her hair into a multicoloured bonfire of curls, the pale perfect profile, the intense wariness of her stance as if she was waiting for him to say or do something she found objectionable and use that as an excuse to escape.
He had never met a woman like Isla before and to some extent it unnerved him because she was an unknown quantity. A woman who threw diamonds back in his face, insulted by them, he thought, marvelling at that lack of materialism. A woman who challenged him, stood up to him, went her own way regardless, unpredictable and in some ways as volatile as he was. An explosive combination. He gritted his teeth as the silence lay, his question unanswered.
‘I’ll probably go back to studying,’ she confided somewhat grudgingly, as if giving such personal information went beyond the bounds of their relationship.
‘Studying what?’ he pressed, genuinely curious.
‘I’d have to pass another course first but afterwards—assuming I’m successful—I think I’d like to go to university to do a paramedics course. I want something interesting, active,’ she admitted, turning finally to look at him, her head tilting back because he was so tall.
‘It would be challenging but I think you’re strong enough to do it.’ Alissandru stood there, his dark head at an arrogant questioning angle, his stunning dark golden eyes welded to her with intensity and a literal flame of heat ran over her entire skin surface, warming her within and without and in places she didn’t like to think about. Her reaction was so instant it was terrifying and, feeling suddenly vulnerable, she turned her head away again and headed for the door.
‘Oh,’ she muttered, pausing on the threshold to glance back at him. ‘A little hint if you’re not too proud to take it. Your mother’s ready for another dog. She adores Puggle and I think she would love a new pet.’
And with that helpful little assurance she was gone like quicksilver. Alissandru frowned even as he got on the phone to organise an employee to pack up and collect the contents of his brother’s study. Isla was thoughtful, kind and intuitive. A new puppy would indeed comfort his mother, whose need for company he had failed to fulfil. Constantia had seen his brother daily and missed him the most while Alissandru had always travelled the world on business. It was true that he was home a great deal more than he used to be, but his conscience twanged that it had taken an outsider to point out a possibility that he felt he should’ve thought of first.
On her return to the house, Isla made a trip to two local charity shops. She was thinking about Alissandru far more than she felt comfortable with and deeply regretting her loss of temper. She had overreacted; she always seemed to overreact to Alissandru. She had overlooked the reality that a diamond necklace might be a huge gift on her terms but that it was a much lesser thing to a man of his wealth. Even so, she thought ruefully, it was better to have returned such an expensive present and to keep the difference in their circumstances out of the equation before it threatened to muddy the water and he started thinking she was a gold-digger again. Or did he still secretly think that anyway? She rolled her eyes at her meandering ruminations. She had no idea what Alissandru thought because to a certain extent she had already taught him to watch what he said around her.
On her return, it was a relief to see the contents of Paulu’s study being packed up and removed. From those personal effects, she chose only a framed photo of the couple together on a beach somewhere, their smiling faces a good memory she wanted to conserve as her own. That and a little gold locket that had once belonged to her mother and that silly stool were the only personal items that Isla wished to keep from the house.
With Paulu’s former assistant helping, Alissandru tackled a job he had long avoided, feeling almost grateful for Isla’s part in virtually forcing him into the task.
‘This is...er, legal,’ his brother’s secretary told him, passing him a folded document, complete with a notary’s seal.
Alissandru frowned down at the local notary’s stamp, wondering why his brother had approached another solicitor instead of Marco, the family lawyer. He opened it up and was disconcerted to discover that the document was another will and, what was more, a will drawn up and duly witnessed more recently than the one the family lawyer had had.
And that later will altered everything, Alissandru realised in sheer consternation. Only weeks before his death his twin had changed his mind about how he would dispose of his worldly goods, clearly having had second thoughts about leaving his home to anyone outside the family. He had left everything, house and money as well, to Alissandru, and Alissandru almost groaned out loud. Why the hell had Paulu changed his mind?
Alissandru suspected that Isla’s advice had helped his brother to win his wife back and, in that first instance of reclaiming Tania, gratitude had persuaded his brother to leave his estate to his sister-in-law, should both he and his wife die first. And then perhaps Paulu, an innate worrier, had begun to think about the risk of leaving such a will in his wake and the effect it could have on Alissandru.
Alissandru gritted his perfect white teeth. It had been wrong to leave the house away from the family estate but to leave that money to Alissandru instead had been an unnecessary gesture. He didn’t need the money, but Isla did.
And how was Alissandru supposed to act to redress a situation that now threatened to become a messy injustice?
He would keep quiet. He would put the new will in the safe rather than lodge it with Marco Morelli, who would kick up a ruckus and, as the family lawyer, inform Isla immediately of the new will’s existence. But was suppressing the new will in such a way illegal? Alissandru breathed in deep and slow. He didn’t wish to break the law and, surely, it was his duty as Paulu’s twin to ensure that his brother’s last wishes were respectfully carried out?
He would lodge the new will with Marco and tell him that he did not wish it acted upon. Assuredly, as the main legatee, he must have the right to make that decision. He wanted Isla to keep the money, he only wanted the house and he was quite happy to buy the house back from her.
But what if Isla decided not to sell? Or chose to sell to someone else? The new will would be his safeguard, Alissandru decided grimly, a weapon only to be utilised if he was left with no other choice.
