Читать книгу The Italian's Love-Child - Сара Крейвен, Emma Darcy - Страница 15

CHAPTER TEN

ANOTHER day of guilty pleasures, Skye thought as she stood under the shower in her ensuite bathroom, using the expensive perfumed soap which came supplied with all the other luxury items in the penthouse apartment. Luc was paying for everything—absolutely everything—and she shouldn’t really be riding along on his vacation with Matt, taking all he was giving.

First class seats on the flight—Matt’s first ride in an aeroplane.

More than first class accommodation—every possible comfort, plus wonderful ocean views and the big screen television set in the living room was connected to pay TV, luxury indeed for Matt who was fascinated by the huge variety of shows he could watch.

Yesterday they’d had a marvellous time at Sea World—seeing the awesome Polar bears, watching the fun-loving seals and actually having shallow water encounters with dolphins. And Matt had had enormous fun today, playing with the Looney Tunes characters in the Splash Zone at Warner Bros. Movie World.

She, too, was enjoying herself—couldn’t deny it—yet she had the uncomfortable sense of being put in Luc’s debt, despite his insistence that he owed her far more than he could ever repay. Worse than that was the secret pleasure of simply being with him. It wasn’t just sharing the joy of watching their son have the time of his life. The more time she spent with Luc, the more he reminded her of everything she had loved about him.

It was extremely difficult to keep her focus on Matt. Not difficult…impossible! she ruefully corrected herself. Even here, in the shower, just running the soap over her naked body was stirring sensual memories of how Luc had once caressed her, making her feel how much she missed having that kind of intimacy with him.

He certainly wanted it. There was no mistaking the simmering desire in his eyes whenever he looked at her, whether they were sharing some mutual pleasure in Matt or having a practical discussion on what they were to eat for their next meal. No direct reference was made to it, not by her, not by him. However, the simmering did keep her on edge, trying to ensure nothing she said or did turned up the heat.

The mental cage she’d put around her own feelings for Luc was being continually rattled. The physical attraction was reinforced every time he touched her—a protective arm around her waist in a crowd, a courteous taking of her arm when entering a restaurant, holding her hand—and Matt’s—as they walked along together. There was nothing overtly sexual about any of it, yet it subtly made her acutely aware of wanting more from him.

Marry me…

Skye wished it could be as simple as that. She couldn’t bring herself to believe it, not with her past experience of the Peretti family. Luc might think he was in control of all the complex factors that would come into play if a marriage between them did take place, but she could feel their shadows in the background, waiting to grow more and more substance, threatening to strangle whatever happiness they might have together.

Besides which, she couldn’t help having doubts about Luc’s motivation for a marriage with her. It wasn’t a clear-cut case of loving her, loving Matt, wanting them to be together. She felt the payback element very strongly—people being manipulated, including herself, which made her very uneasy about accepting anything at face value.

Sexual chemistry was something else.

Luc was certainly right about its not going away.

With a wistful sigh, Skye finished washing herself, turned off the shower, and reached for the lovely soft bath towel—another luxury to revel in—another guilt, wrapping herself in what Luc’s wealth provided. This kind of living where cost was no object to every material pleasure was horribly seductive. And could very easily become addictive.

Did Luc mean it to be?

Was it another form of manipulation to get his own way?

A one-week family vacation, showing her a bed of roses…

No vacation was real life, Skye firmly told herself, more like a dream…time out of time. She had to keep remembering that, not let it influence her into glossing over the thorns in the situation with Luc’s family.

Although it was mid-April, the days were still hot and the evenings balmy on the Gold Coast. Skye chose to slip into her white and brown sundress, wanting to feel cool and relaxed after wearing rather sticky jeans all day. It was also a relief to brush out her hair from the pinned top-knot and she left it loose. Luc had gone out to get takeaway for dinner tonight so she didn’t bother with sandals, padding out to the living-room barefoot to check on Matt.

Having already supervised his bath and put him in pyjamas, she’d left him esconced in front of the television, happily watching a channel which only showed cartoons. He was still there, although now there was a pizza box beside him, and he was eating a big slice dripping with melted cheese and a tomato base.

‘Not waiting for us?’ she asked in surprise. Luc had made a big thing of having meals together.

‘I’m hungry and Daddy said I could have it here,’ Matt informed her between bites. ‘He’s just gone to have a shower. There’s a whole lot of stuff in the kitchen,’ he added in case she was hungry, too, and couldn’t wait.

‘I’ll check it out.’

Matt’s attention was already glued to the screen again, happily engrossed in watching more antics from the Looney Tunes characters.

Skye moved into the kitchen, expecting to find other pizza boxes. All the ingredients for a very tasty salad were sitting on the sink—lettuce, tomato, capsicum, avocado, cucumber, a bottle of Italian dressing. A loaf of twisted bread, made with cheese and spinach, sat on an oven tray ready to be heated up. Slabs of rump steak were being marinaded on a meat plate, and a covered plastic dish containing ten little chat potatoes with butter and parsley was waiting to be put into the microwave oven. Pizza was clearly not on their menu tonight.

‘Thought we’d have a proper meal instead,’ Luc said, breezing into the kitchen, barefoot like herself, and wearing a fresh pair of white shorts with a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt he hadn’t bothered to button up.

The air was sucked straight out of Skye’s lungs. The mental cage flew open and the wild beast of desire flexed its muscles and ran riot through her entire body. Muscles quivered or contracted. Her pulse-rate hopped, skipped and jumped. Heat zoomed through her bloodstream. Her skin tingled. Even her scalp tingled. And her breasts tightened and strained against the cups of cotton that kept them contained.

The blast of virile masculinity was so strong it took an act of will to stop staring, turn her back on it and find enough presence of mind to say, ‘I’ll wash the lettuce.’

‘I’ll go set the table out on the balcony,’ Luc said cheerfully, busying himself collecting plates and cutlery. ‘Best to eat there where we can chat over dinner without the noise and distraction of Matt’s cartoons.’

Chat… Skye clung to that word as her hands automatically went to work, tearing off lettuce leaves, running the water in the sink.

Luc had stopped her from retreating into her bedroom the first evening they were here, pleading that he knew nothing of the years he’d missed with Matt and asking her to fill him in on them—such a reasonable request it was only fair to oblige him.

Last night he had drawn her out about her own life since they’d been parted—her mother’s death, the move from Caringbah to Brighton-Le-Sands, building up a clientele for her massage business. Only when he’d asked about future plans had she felt it was time to excuse herself and retire, conscious that he now dominated any thinking about the future, making it too slippery a subject. She didn’t want to fall into the dangerous trap of discussing marriage with him.

What did Luc have planned for tonight?

Should she plead a headache and escape?

The brief breathing space while he was out on the balcony was not long enough to get the panic at her own vulnerability to him under control. On returning, he headed straight to the refrigerator, just as she was lifting a salad bowl out of the kitchen cupboard next to it, and it felt like a whirlwind coming at her, intent on catching her up in it.

But he didn’t touch her. He grinned as he opened the refrigerator door, tossing nothing but companionable words at her. ‘Managed to buy a fine bottle of Chardonnay as well, already chilled. Might as well pour us a drink now. It won’t take me long to grill the steaks.’

Wine!

Adding an intoxicant to the chaos in her head was not a good idea, but Skye had accepted a glass of wine on the flight up here, and at the restaurants where they’d dined the past two evenings. Refusing one now might alert Luc to a difference in her mood—one she didn’t want to explain. Besides, she could sip sparingly. Better not to make an issue of it.

‘Thanks,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘I remembered how you liked cheesecake, too,’ he went on, his eyes dancing with pleasure in his planning. ‘Bought two slices with a mango topping and a jar of cream to have for sweets.’

He was remembering more than cheesecake, Skye thought, and making her remember, too. ‘You have been busy,’ she said dryly, moving back to the sink with the bowl, ready to attack the other vegetables to put in the salad. ‘I thought you were getting us pizzas.’

‘Impulsive change of mind,’ he excused.

With a lot more impulses involved!

‘Hope you approve,’ he added, his voice loaded with persuasive appeal.

‘It’s fine, Luc,’ she obliged, recognising there was no reasonable argument against what he’d done. Normal politeness forced her to say, ‘And special thanks for the cheesecake. I’ll enjoy it.’

He set her glass of wine on the bench beside the sink. Still no attempt at touching. There was absolutely nothing Skye could object to in his behaviour. Nor in his dress which she had to admit was as appropriate as her own for an evening at home on the Gold Coast—cool, casual, relaxed.

And Luc did appear to be completely relaxed as he went about cooking what had to be cooked, meat under the griller, bread in the oven, potatoes in the microwave, chatting to her about the day they’d just spent together, acting like a happy father who’d given his son a special treat, acting like a happy husband sharing it all with his wife… before they shared a lot more in bed.

Skye couldn’t get that last thought out of her head.

The buzz of anticipation was in the air, charged with so much sexual electricity she was amazed to find she had actually prepared the salad and tossed the dressing through it, which gave her the chance to escape from the highly charged intimacy of working in the kitchen with Luc. She carried the bowl out to the balcony and paused there long enough to take several deep breaths of fresh sea air.

Nothing was going to happen unless she let it happen.

Skye fixed this maxim firmly in her mind in a desperate effort to counteract the rampant desires that were clamouring to sneak right past it, whispering their tempting promises of pleasure, insidiously urging her to satisfy more than a weakness for cheesecake, demanding to know why shouldn’t she take what was on offer? It didn’t commit her to marriage.

‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’

Her heart jolted at the realisation Luc was just behind her. She whipped around from the balcony railing, gearing up to fight off any move on her, only to find him standing on the other side of the table, setting down an ice bucket containing the bottle of wine.

‘Yes, it is,’ she choked out, hoping she didn’t look alarmed.

Was it all in her mind?

He smiled, watching the light sea breeze gently lifting the silky fan of her hair around her shoulders.

No, it wasn’t just her.

The smile was very sensual. And satisfaction glinted in his eyes as he said, ‘Matt’s fallen asleep on the floor. Shall I carry him in to bed?’

Out of the way. No possible distraction from a little boy who was totally worn out from the day’s excitement, too exhausted to care where he slept. Had that been planned, too?

‘I’ll do it while you finish up in the kitchen,’ Skye answered, wanting the activity, anything to put space between her and Luc.

‘Okay.’ He shrugged and retreated.

Skye followed him inside. Matt had simply toppled over beside the pizza box, not even a cushion under his head. He didn’t stir when she gathered him up in her arms and remained a dead weight as he was carried into his bedroom, head lolling on her shoulder, arms and legs limp. She laid him down on the pillow, manouevred his body in between the sheets, tucked him in and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

There was not so much as a flutter of consciousness from Matt. He was completely at peace, leaving it up to his parents to take care of his future.

Skye wished she had a crystal ball to look into and see the consequences of all the futures that could radiate out from this point in her life. Right now she was just meeting each day as it came, trying to evade any decisions which might commit her to a course that would put Matt and herself in a bad place. It would be so easy to shift all the responsibility on to Luc, to surrender them both into his keeping, for better or for worse, but she’d come too far on her own to give up all control.

Somehow she had to see her way more clearly. Luc had been asking about Matt’s life and hers. Since she had to get through the next hour or two with him, why not ask about his life? Up until now she had shied away from showing any personal interest in him, sensing he would seize some advantage from it, draw her into knowing more than she would feel comfortable with.

Her mouth curved in black irony as she turned away from Matt and caught sight of her reflection in the mirrors covering the doors of the built-in cupboard. It was not the reflection of a woman who felt comfortable with anything.

Her eyes were wide and anxious. Her shoulders were stiff, carrying too many burdens. Her hair looked undisciplined, floating free. And while it might not be discernible to other eyes, the ache in her body—screaming to be soothed—seemed to be telegraphed from every taut curve outlined by the too skimpy dress.

Bad choice!

She should have worn a less inviting outfit. Though her reaction to Luc would have been the same. It was too late to change now—too obvious a move, telling Luc how deeply disturbed she was by him. Better to concentrate on using tonight to find out where he was coming from, where he might take her to if she weakened.

She forced her legs to take her out of the shelter of Matt’s bedroom. The stark truth was…there was no hiding place from Luc Peretti. If he wasn’t present physically, he was certainly in her mind. Everything he represented had to be faced, sooner or later. Postponing the evil hour wouldn’t help one bit.

The television was still playing cartoons. She found the remote control panel and turned it off. The abrupt fall of silence prompted her to wryly imagine a drum-roll, heralding curtain up. The stage had definitely been set. The waft of warm bread was enough to tease an appetite. No doubt Luc would set the ball rolling on action. What she had to do was catch the ball and direct some action herself.

‘Ready, Skye?’ he called from the kitchen.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Do you need a hand with anything?’

‘No. I’m serving now. Go on out to the table and I’ll be with you in a minute.’

She did as he directed since it suited her, as well. The table was round, big enough to seat six, not so wide that sitting opposite each other was an awkward distance but wide enough to prevent any easy physical touching. As long as she sat down, she was safe.

Skye sat.

The bread was being kept warm under a tea-cloth. Their glasses were filled with wine. The salad and potatoes were handy for self-serving. Luc came striding out with their steaks on a plate, placing it on the centre of the table with a flourish, inviting her to help herself.

He sat down, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Isn’t this nice?’ he said.

It was…if the circumstances had been anywhere near normal. ‘Yes. Thank you,’ Skye replied, feeling swamped by the power of the man.

The dinner was irrelevant.

His eyes said he wanted to eat her up.

And in her heart of hearts, Skye knew she wanted to be eaten by Luc Peretti.