Читать книгу The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario - Jane Porter, Annie West - Страница 10

EXHAUSTED from the emotional bombardment, Laurel wondered whether she’d survive an entire evening within touching distance of Cristiano. It had been so long since she’d spent time with him she felt like an addict starved of a fix.

From across the terrace she heard him laugh and she turned her head, drawn by the sound. She’d never laughed as much as she had when they were together. Life had felt light and full of hope. Now he was laughing with another woman.

And she was beautiful.

There was an intimacy in the way they communicated, an ease that suggested a relationship deeper than friendship.

Torturing herself, Laurel was unable to drag her eyes away. As she watched, one of the little cousins dressed in a froth of blue danced across to him and tugged at his leg. With an indulgent smile, Cristiano scooped her up and gave her his full attention. Laurel couldn’t hear what he was saying but, judging from the child’s expression, it was something amusing.

His interaction with the child was enough to unlock everything trapped inside her.

Laurel turned away, wondering if anyone would notice if she slipped away.

It didn’t matter where she stood, she was aware of him. Even with her back to him she could sense him. The feeling crept over her skin and took control of her mind, making it impossible to concentrate on a conversation. Her neck ached with the need to turn and look. For once she was grateful for the crowd of people and the constraints of social behaviour that prevented her from rushing across to his side and undoing everything she’d done.

‘You should eat something.’ He appeared by her side, cool and commanding as he gestured towards one of the waitresses circulating with a tray of canapés.

‘I’m not hungry.’

Cristiano took a small piece of chicken from the plate. ‘Unless you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, I suggest you eat. It’s marinated in local lemon juice and herbs. Your favourite.’

She wondered if he was doing it on purpose, conjuring up shared memories of the night they’d raided the kitchen like children and taken food down to the beach.

That decadent moonlit picnic was one of her happiest memories of their time together.

Feeling as if she might choke on the sadness, Laurel took the chicken because it seemed easier than arguing and it gave her something to do. Somehow she managed to chew and swallow, despite the lump in her throat and the fact he was watching her with those dark, velvety eyes that saw too much.

She looked away from the cynical curve of his mouth, shaken by the impulse that washed over her. Standing as close as they were, it would take no effort to press her lips to his. She would melt into him and then his hands would be in her hair, his mouth devouring hers with a skill that would leave her head spinning. No one kissed like Cristiano. He had an innate understanding of what a woman needed and his repertoire ranged from hot and out of control to slow and sensuous. He’d introduced her to a whole world she’d never known about.

The scent of the sea mingled with the sweetness of Mediterranean flowers and from all around them came the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation. The terrace was crowded with people and yet it might as well have been just the two of them.

His eyes darkened under the veil of those thick lashes and the atmosphere between them shifted. To the casual onlooker they were just two people in the middle of a polite conversation, but Laurel felt the sudden change as clearly as he did. The fact that it was subtle made it no less dangerous.

It was as if she were in a tiny boat being drawn by the current towards a lethal waterfall. Frantic, she tried to pull back mentally—to save herself before she plunged.

‘I heard that you and Santo have finally found a prime piece of land in Sardinia.’ Her carefully chosen reminder of his unwavering commitment to the business had the desired effect.

His beautiful eyes narrowed warily. ‘We’re negotiating a deal on the land now. Developing in Sardinia isn’t easy.’ But he’d find a way.

This was what he did. He relished the challenge, if only to prove that he could outsmart and outwit the opposition.

That was why he was so angry with her, she mused. It wasn’t just that she’d left. It was because she hadn’t given him the opportunity to fight and win a victory. She’d just retreated.

‘Congratulations. I know how much you wanted to expand there.’

‘The deal isn’t done yet.’ But it would be. She had no doubt about that.

The silence sizzled with undercurrents but the presence of so many guests meant that their interaction could be nothing but civilized. She was aware of the curiosity of the crowd but Cristiano wielded too much power and influence for anyone to dare to stare or openly speculate.

Suddenly she wondered if their separation had been hard for him, this man who had lived such a gilded existence. His life was an upward trajectory, soaring higher and higher. Until she’d walked out, his ambitions for the future had continued unimpeded.

‘This is where you’ve been hiding, Cristiano.’ The scent of flowers surrendered to the stronger smell of perfume as another beautiful girl approached, this one with sloe eyes and a wide, sensuous mouth. That mouth curved into a smile that was unmistakably flirtatious and she didn’t glance once in Laurel’s direction as she placed a proprietorial hand on his arm.

Laurel was shocked by the flash of jealousy that consumed her.

She stared at that hand, consumed by a sick feeling that came with witnessing such a blatant act of possession. The long red nails reminded her of splashes of blood. It couldn’t have hurt more if the girl had dug them straight into Laurel’s heart.

Jealousy became a fizz of anger.

They never left him alone. Wherever they went, women elbowed each other to get closer, to flirt, to attract his attention, to try and take a piece of him. And he didn’t consider it strange because this had been his experience for all of his adult life.

She still remembered the shock on his face when he’d asked her out and she’d turned him down.

Almost as great as his shock when she’d walked out on their marriage.

Driven to the edge of her tolerance by those long red nails and that look of promise, Laurel turned to walk away but Cristiano was faster. With a smooth, decisive movement, his hand shot out and he closed his fingers around her wrist, preventing her escape with a grip as secure as any handcuff. ‘Adele, I don’t believe you’ve met Laurel.’

‘Oh.’ The girl’s smile slipped slightly, her cool response revealing just where Laurel ranked in her list of influential social contacts. ‘Hi.’

‘My wife,’ Cristiano said in a firm voice and the smile vanished altogether.

Laurel stood still, aware only of the blood pounding in her ears and his iron hold on her wrist.

It was too little, too late and she didn’t understand it.

Why would he emphasize a relationship that was over?

The girl’s eyes narrowed slightly and her hand slipped from Cristiano’s arm. ‘Ah. I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.’ With a smile at Laurel that clearly said, I can wait until you’re off the scene, the girl sashayed away to talk to Santo, who was laughing at the far end of the terrace.

‘You see?’ His voice was harsh. ‘I can be sensitive.’ It was a blatant reference to the occasion when she’d lost her cool, upset by the continuous stream of women who seemed to consider a wife no impediment to flirtation. She’d accused him of insensitivity. He’d accused her of overreacting.

For him to finally acknowledge her feelings on the subject only when they were this close to divorce bordered on the insensitive, she thought numbly. All he’d done was prove that he could have made the effort if he’d wanted to.

‘I no longer care who flirts with you.’ She wanted that to be true, but her mind had other ideas and tortured her with questions about which of the girls Cristiano was seeing. Because of course he had to be seeing someone. It had been two years. A man like him wasn’t going to be on his own for long once word got around that his wife had left him.

‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ He took absolutely no notice of the women glancing at him across the sunlit terrace. Soon the sun would fade and the twinkling bulbs wound around the trees would send sparkles of light across the water. It was a breathtakingly romantic setting, the beauty of the surroundings a cruel backdrop for playing out the final scenes of a dying marriage.

‘I don’t really care if you believe it. I’m not saying it to challenge you.’ Did he realise that he was still holding her wrist? And why wasn’t she pulling her arm away? Across the terrace the dark-haired girl was holding court, every exaggerated toss of her head designed to draw the attention of the only man who interested her. ‘I really don’t care if you have yourself a harem.’

‘Would it make you feel better if I had? Ease your conscience?’ They were standing close to each other, his hand still locked on her arm in a proprietorial gesture that made no sense.

‘I have nothing on my conscience.’

She knew from the sudden defensive flash in his eyes that he’d picked up her implication that his own conscience was the one that should be hurting. No one could accuse Cristiano Ferrara of being slow. His mind was as sharp as a blade.

Which made his refusal to apologise all the more hurtful.

He breathed deeply and she wondered whether this was the moment he’d finally admit his contribution to their break up. ‘We stood together in the little chapel that has been part of my family’s estate for generations, and I made you a promise. For better, for worse. In sickness and in health.’ His anger was no less dangerous for the fact that it was so ruthlessly contained. ‘You made the same promises. You were wearing a pretty white dress at the time—lace at the neck and my grandmother’s antique veil. Remember? Is this ringing any bells in that messed up head of yours?’

The memory felled her at the knees and was the only reason she didn’t slap him for his inability to see his own part in their break up. ‘You are accusing me of breaking promises? In sickness and in health, Cristiano.’ In that small intimate space they’d created, she threw his words back at him. ‘Nowhere in our marriage vows did it say, Just as long as neither interferes with your husband’s business deals.’

Furious with herself for opening up a wound she’d wanted to keep closed and even more furious with him for being so blind to his own shortcomings, Laurel thrust her glass into his hand, twisted free and virtually sprinted across the terrace towards the steps that led down to the private beach. She felt like Cinderella on the dot of midnight, except that she didn’t want the Prince to catch her.

She could lose both shoes for all she cared. That wouldn’t be enough to stop her running.

Santo stepped in front of her, his expression deceptively benign as he blocked her path. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Laurel ground her teeth, silently cursing everyone with the surname Ferrara. ‘Back to the villa. Not that it’s your business.’

‘You’re hurting my brother. That makes it my business.’

‘He’s big enough to look after himself.’ But that wouldn’t stop Santo and her insides twisted with envy because she knew he was just looking out for his brother.

The fact that no one looked out for her didn’t bother her.

She didn’t expect it or want it. Never had.

‘Having you here messes with his head. I just want to say one thing, Laurel—’ Three parts drunk, ten parts angry, Santo blocked the steps. ‘Hurt my brother again and I will crush you like a bug. Capisci?’

‘Non capisce niente,’ Laurel shot back, her Italian almost as fluent as his. ‘You understand nothing. Stay out of my business, Santo.’

Hurt my brother—

What about the way his brother had hurt her? Apparently that counted for nothing.

Distress breaking through the barriers she’d erected, she pushed past him, aware that by doing so she’d made herself the object of curious stares. Doubtless everyone wanted to know what Santo had been saying to his brother’s disobedient ex-wife to make her run.

She virtually flew down the steps that led down to the beach. At some point while she’d been suffering on the terrace, darkness had fallen and the solar-powered lights that illuminated the path down to the beach glowed like a million bright eyes watching her flee. Feeling her chest tighten ominously, she slowed her pace. The last thing she needed right now was an asthma attack. She was ruthless about maintaining her fitness levels but her downfall had always been stress and she’d been stressed from the moment the wheels of the plane had touched the tarmac.

As her feet sank into the soft sand the chatter behind her faded and the music became a distant hum. Here, the dominant sound was the lap of the sea on the shore and Laurel tugged off her shoes. The solitude was a soothing balm to her raw feelings, the silky sand triggering memories of happier times. But memories couldn’t change the present.

They were all furious with her. She was about as welcome as a deadly virus at a children’s party.

And she was furious with them for assuming that all the blame lay with her.

She was here because of Dani, but it was clear to her now that once her friend accepted that Laurel and Cristiano really were finished, their friendship would be over too.

Depressed by that thought, Laurel sank down onto the sand and wrapped her arms around her knees, her bag and her shoes abandoned by her side. The sea stretched ahead of her, the inky black broken by the occasional shimmer of light from a passing yacht.

She’d been stupid, she realised, to think that her friendship with Dani could endure, given what she’d done.

Desperately she struggled to control herself, aware that her chest was growing tighter and doing everything she could to breathe slowly and keep herself calm.

She didn’t know how long she sat there staring through a mist of tears, but she knew when she was no longer alone.

Infuriated that he didn’t have the sensitivity to leave her alone, she tensed her shoulders. ‘Go back to the party, Cristiano. We have nothing more to talk about.’ The moon sent a shaft of light over the sea, illuminating the hard, masculine features.

‘I want to talk about the baby.’

So he’d been saving the worst for last. ‘I don’t.’

‘I know, and that’s why we’re in this mess. Because you refused to talk about it.’

The injustice of it knocked the last of the breath from her lungs.

Even now, broaching this most delicate of topics, his body language had all the subtlety of one of the many invaders who had plundered Sicily for two thousand years of its colourful history.

His legs were planted firmly apart, one hand in his pocket, indifferent to the effects of the sand on the sheen of his designer shoes. Laurel recognised the stance. This was Cristiano troubleshooting, those broad shoulders set for battle and those charcoal eyes narrowed to two dangerous slits as he assessed the opposition and realigned his strategy.

He was six foot two of furiously angry Sicilian male, ready to fight until victory was his.

And even as part of her loathed that side of him, another part admired that strength and focus.

Telling herself that raw masculinity was just not attractive, she gritted her teeth.

Kill it right now, Laurel. Those tiny, dangerous shoots of desire needed to be culled before they spread and threatened to choke common sense.

‘You want to talk about the baby? Fine—let’s talk. I was ten weeks pregnant. I had abdominal cramps. You were away on business. I called you, but you decided it would be fine to carry on with your business trip. You made your decision. Things became worse. I called you again but you’d switched your phone off. You couldn’t have been clearer about your priorities. There’s nothing more to be said on the subject.’ The idyllic setting did nothing to dilute the tension that throbbed between them.

‘You are twisting the facts. I called the doctor. I spoke to him and he assured me that with a few days’ rest you would be all right. No one expected you to lose the baby.’

She’d expected to lose the baby. From the first cramp she’d known with a woman’s instinct that something was badly wrong. ‘Then that’s you off the hook.’

‘Accidenti, why do you refuse to discuss it?’

‘Because this is not a discussion. Just another monologue where you tell me how I should be feeling. You want me to tell you that it was all my fault, that I behaved unreasonably, but I’m not going to do that because I didn’t. You are the one who behaved unreasonably.’ The rhythm of her breathing was unsteady. ‘No, not unreasonably—that isn’t the word. You were cruel, Cristiano. Cruel.’

‘Basta! Enough.’ His voice thickened around the word. ‘You make it sound as if this was a straightforward decision but my role in this company comes with huge responsibilities. The decisions that I make affect thousands. And sometimes those decisions are difficult.’

‘And sometimes they’re just plain wrong. Admit it.’

He exhaled and swore simultaneously, exasperation and frustration etched in the perfect symmetry of his face. ‘Of course, with hindsight, I admit I may have made the wrong decision that day.’

It was the closest he’d ever come to an apology but it made no difference to the raw pain inside her. Swept along in an avalanche of emotions, she forgot her promise to herself not to revisit the past. ‘It shouldn’t require hindsight for you to know you messed up badly. You knew how much it took for me to call you and ask you to come that day. When had I ever asked for your help or support before? Never. Just that one time when I was alone and terrified. All you needed was just a gram of sensitivity but no, you were too busy playing the big tycoon. And do you know the worst thing?’ Her voice shook. ‘Until I met you I had never needed anyone. I was strong. I relied only on myself. I sorted my own life out. But you prised me open like a shell on a beach, removing all my protection. You demanded that I open up. You made me need you and stupidly I gave you that power. And then you let me down.’

Cristiano yanked at his bow tie and dragged open his top button as if it was strangling him. ‘I am running a global corporation. I am a man with enormous responsibilities and on this occasion—’

‘What you are, Cristiano, is a man who puts his wife second to his business interests. Do you know what really depresses me? The fact that even now you’re not willing to admit you made a lousy decision. The words “I may have made the wrong decision” have to be virtually dragged from you because you don’t believe yourself capable of getting anything wrong. Well, I’ve got news for you—you definitely made the wrong decision.’ She flung back her head and her hair slid loose over her shoulders. Like a samurai falling on his sword, she uttered the words that she knew would kill their relationship for ever. ‘And I hate you for that almost as much as I hate you for making me need you. You’re an insensitive, arrogant bully and I don’t want you in my life.’

‘A bully?’ Those powerful shoulders were rigid. ‘So now I’m a bully?’

She noticed that he didn’t challenge her on the charge of being insensitive and arrogant. ‘You push and push until things go the way you want them to go. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, you always have to win. When there’s something you want, you develop tunnel vision. You wanted that Caribbean deal so badly you told yourself I’d be fine. You justified your behaviour by reminding yourself how many people were depending on you, that it was your responsibility to stay and finish the meeting, but the truth is that you stayed because you never think anyone can do the job as well as you and also because you love the buzz of winning. I’d have more respect for you if you were just honest enough to admit it. But you have to tell yourself it’s my fault because the alternative is recognising your own error and you don’t make errors, do you?’ It was possibly the longest, most revealing speech she’d ever made to him and she saw the shock in his eyes as he registered the change in her.

In the shaft of moonlight two livid lines of colour streaked along his enviable cheekbones. ‘I have already admitted I made the wrong decision. But once again you’ve managed to divert the conversation from the baby you lost.’

We lost, she thought numbly. We lost it. And as usual his answer to her suggestion of any failing on his part was to brush over it as virtually inconsequential.

‘You’re so proud of the fact that you talk about your feelings so easily, but they’re your feelings, Cristiano. You have no interest in anyone else’s unless they match your own. The reason you want to know my feelings is so that you can tell me I’m wrong. So that you can change my mind and tell me what I should be thinking. You have the sensitivity of a tank and I hate your macho, caveman approach to everything.’

The atmosphere snapped taut and his eyes glittered lethal black in the dim light. ‘I can remember a time when you liked my macho, caveman approach.’

The sudden punch of sensual heat horrified her. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Really?’ She was hauled to her feet before she could do more than gasp his name.

Unprepared and off balance, she tipped against him and was forced to plant her hand against his chest for support. Through the fine silk of his shirt she felt hard male muscle and could feel him literally vibrating with anger. His dark features loomed over her and she swayed towards him like someone in a trance. The heat was suffocating but she had no idea whether it was the sultry Sicilian air or their scorching passion that seared her skin.

Safe in another country, it had been easy to rationalise the chemistry, but the reality was raw and frightening.

Two years of self-denial weakened her still further and, instead of pushing him away, her fingers fisted in his shirt. Helpless, hopeless, she watched as his head lowered towards hers, the sheer inevitability of it melting her resistance.

She was so ready for his kiss, so desperate, that it was a brutal shock when he released her suddenly.

In a smooth movement he uncurled her fingers from his shirt as if she were an insect he didn’t want touching his flesh. ‘You’re right—’ he spoke in a tone thickened with contempt and disdain as he thrust her away from him ‘—there is no point in conversation. Nothing, nothing, justifies you walking away from our marriage. You think you’re so tough and independent but you’re a coward who would rather run than stay and fight.’

And run she did. Right then, with her feet bare and her heart exposed. She sprinted along the sand, her hair flying in her face as she ran towards the safety of the villa.

Coward, coward, coward—

Each time her feet hit the sand she heard the word in her head and she increased the pace, trying to outrun the noise.

The tightness in her chest was back but she ran without pausing, without looking back. She ran until her lungs burned and by the time she reached the villa, she could hardly breathe.

Doubled over, she paused by the door. And knew instantly that she was in trouble.

She needed the inhaler now. Right now, if she were to avoid the attack that threatened.

A few minutes before, her biggest fear had been the way she felt about him, but suddenly that fear had been surpassed by something even more dangerous. The need for air.

Her lungs burned and breathing was becoming harder and harder. With hands that shook she automatically reached for her bag, only to discover she was no longer carrying it. She’d put it down on the sand next to her and she’d forgotten to pick it up when she’d been trying to escape from Cristiano.

Laurel knew a moment of real terror and she mentally cursed herself for being so stupid. She should have used her inhaler earlier instead of arguing with him.

Her chest was growing worse by the minute. Her breathing tighter and more laboured. Knowing that she didn’t have her inhaler made the stress worse.

Being on her own with an attack was something she dreaded more than anything.

Knowing that she was in serious trouble, Laurel let herself into the villa and sank down onto the floor with her back to the wall. Breathe. Breathe. Slowly. Relax. She needed to go back and find her inhaler but at the moment she wasn’t capable of walking that far.

Telling herself that she’d be fine if she could just calm down, she forced herself to focus on the lamp glowing in the corner of the room and forget her encounter with Cristiano, but it was hard to be calm when every breath was an effort.

Her chest became tighter and she heard the whistling sound that came with the onset of an attack.

No. Not now.

The door crashed open. ‘Always you run, but you and I are going to—’ Cristiano broke off as he saw her huddled in the corner, struggling to breathe. In one stride he was beside her. ‘Laurel?’ He dropped into a crouch, his hand sliding into her hair so that he could tilt her head and look at her properly.

‘Asthma?’

Wordless, she nodded.

‘You’re a fool, running like that. Where is your inhaler?’ He displayed that same ability to focus and prioritise that had brought him staggering success in the business world. For those few crucial moments everything between them was forgotten.

‘Bag—dropped it—’

‘This bag?’ Her tiny silver purse dangled from his fingers and her shoulders slumped with relief as she nodded. Already the wheeze was becoming worse.

Hands shaking, she reached for the bag but he was already opening it, his movements swift and purposeful as he extracted the inhaler.

‘This one?’

She nodded and his mouth tightened. ‘You shouldn’t have run.’

It wasn’t the running that had caused it but she didn’t have the air to tell him that so she simply watched as he yanked the cap off the inhaler. ‘Since when has your asthma got this bad?’

Since her stress levels had gone through the roof.

Since that awful night in the hospital.

Laurel wanted to sob but she didn’t have enough air to do it and she cupped his hands gratefully as he held the inhaler to her lips. She breathed in, drawing comfort from the fact that he was there, right in front of her. Strong. Reassuring. In a minute she’d send him away, but for now—for now his hands were warm and steady, his calm a soothing balm to her anxiety.

His beautiful, sexy mouth was set in a grim line. ‘I’ll call a doctor.’

Laurel shook her head, breathed one more time and then pushed his hands and the inhaler away. If she could still notice that his mouth was sexy then she wasn’t going to die any time soon. She leaned her head back against the wall. ‘Go back to the party.’

‘Sì, because the one thing I really feel like doing right now is dancing the night away.’ But this time the sarcasm was blunted by concern as well as exasperation. ‘I am a man who learns from his mistakes, tesoro. Last time I walked away when you needed me, although in my defence I didn’t realise how bad it was—’ His eyes never left hers.

‘You just can’t do it, can you?’ Laurel took a few difficult breaths. ‘You can’t … apologise.’

The corners of his mouth flickered. ‘For once I’m relieved you have the breath to argue. And, as for an apology—I’m getting closer by the minute.’

‘Don’t bother. It’s too late to make a difference … I already hate you.’ Laurel closed her eyes but not before she’d seen a tempting hint of bronzed skin with the cluster of dark hair hinting at what lay beneath his shirt.

It didn’t help that she knew exactly what lay beneath. She could picture it, every tempting curve and dip of his muscles, the taut flat abdomen and the firm thighs. He was the only client she’d ever had whose physique she hadn’t been able to improve.

‘You don’t hate me, tesoro.’ The assurance with which he spoke those words should have angered her because she’d always hated the way he accepted people’s respect and adulation as his due. He didn’t just walk into a room, he commanded it and that natural assumption of power had exasperated her.

Her throat tightened again, but this time the response was nothing to do with her asthma.

‘Go, or there will be gossip.’

‘I’m not even going to respond to that.’ His arm brushed against hers although whether by accident or design she didn’t know. ‘Do you need to inhale this thing again?’

She opened her eyes.

He still held her inhaler in his fingers and she shook her head.

‘Maybe in a minute … And if you don’t go back, Dani will notice.’

‘When Dani sees that both of us are missing she’ll assume we’re together. She’ll be opening champagne and congratulating herself.’

‘That’s what worries me. Go.’

‘You really think I’d leave? I learned that lesson two years ago.’

The irony of it would have made her smile if she’d had the energy. ‘Two years ago I wanted you—now I don’t.’ Her lungs were improving, the desperate fight for air eased by the medication. ‘I’m not a hypocrite. I chose to leave this marriage so I can’t expect you to hold my hand just because I’m scared. Not that I’m saying I’m scared.’

‘Of course you’re not. God forbid that you would ever admit to vulnerability. Tell me something—’ his tone was conversational, as if they hadn’t just been engaged in a blistering row ‘—have you ever leaned on anyone in your life?’

‘I leaned on you.’ And you weren’t there.

Hearing those unspoken words loud and clear, his jaw tightened. ‘I asked for that one.’ He sat down on the floor next to her, his broad shoulders pressed against the wall. The sleeve of his jacket brushed against her bare arm and Laurel felt the connection deep down in her soul. She hadn’t expected him to stay.

‘I don’t remember inviting you to sit down.’

Ignoring her, he leaned his head back. ‘You’re the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met, you do know that, don’t you?’

‘You talk to me of aggravating?’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘When I needed you most you were nowhere to be seen and now I don’t need you I can’t get rid of you. That’s aggravating. Go back to your other women, Cristiano.’

‘Which one? According to you, I have a harem.’

‘I’m sure any one of them would provide you with the slavish adoration you need.’ Laurel felt the solid warmth of his arm pressing against her. He smelled so good, she thought dizzily. Her senses were heightened, her skin tingling and her nerve endings buzzing. Recognising the danger signs, she felt a stab of alarm. She needed him to leave. Either that or she needed to leave but she didn’t have the available breath. Or anywhere to go. ‘Your problem is that you think women are a homogeneous group. You think we all think and feel in the same way.’

‘You’re wasting precious breath spouting rubbish.’ ‘You think we’re an inferior species.’ He threw back his head and laughed at that. ‘Is that the best you can do to pick a fight? Now I know you’re feeling bad.’

‘I just want you to go.’

‘Sì, I know.’ His voice was low and rough. ‘But I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I find it stressful you being here.’

It was a moment before he answered. ‘Why?’

The sounds of the night intruded on the silence. The rhythmic chirruping of the cicadas and the soft swish of sea on sand. Romance intruding where it had no business.

‘A million reasons.’

The tension pulsed between them and Laurel pressed her hands to the ground, intending to lever herself away from him, but his hand clamped over hers.

‘Name one.’

‘Because our marriage is over. And because you always want everything your own way. There, I gave you two.’ She tugged, but he was stronger. ‘Let me go. My legs are numb. I need to move.’

‘Of course you do. Whenever the conversation becomes uncomfortable you want to move. Usually as fast as possible in the opposite direction.’ He levered himself to his feet. ‘I’ll allow you to go as far as the bed.’ Without giving her the opportunity to argue, he scooped her into his arms.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake—I can walk. I don’t need all this macho stuff. I’ve told you, it does nothing for me.’ Her breathing felt strange again but this time she knew it had nothing to do with her asthma and everything to do with being this close to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, telling herself it was just for support. Nothing else.

The doors were open to the beach and a slight breeze cooled the air as he laid her gently on the bed.

He removed his jacket and slung it carelessly over the sofa. Then he piled the pillows up behind her. ‘Better?’ At her reluctant nod his mouth tightened. ‘When did your asthma become this bad? In all the time we were together I only saw you have an attack once and that was when my pilot had to make an emergency landing and some fool told you about it.’

She didn’t even want to think about the terror of that day. Not now, when she was working on forgetting what they’d shared in the past. ‘You and I were in the middle of a huge project. I didn’t want you dying and leaving me with all the work.’

The corners of his mouth tilted in appreciative humour. ‘Of course. You were worried about the workload. It wasn’t because I rocked your world.’

‘I didn’t see enough of you for you to rock my world. At the most you were a faint tremble.’

‘So if I had so little impact on your life, why did you pack two inhalers to come to this wedding?’

‘Are there two in my bag?’ She feigned surprise and his lashes swept down over his eyes, concealing his expression, but not before she’d seen the flash of exasperation.

‘I wish you would learn to be honest about your feelings.’

‘I wish you would learn not to let your feelings spill out. I suppose I have to make allowances for the fact you’re Sicilian.’

‘Allowances?’

It was a relief to know she could still irritate him. Two minutes, she thought, and then he’d be ranting in Italian and storming out. She was relying on it. ‘Being Sicilian is a handicap in life,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘Being emotional is welded into your DNA. You can’t help it.’

‘Not everyone is afraid of emotions.’ He undid the cuffs of his shirt in a slow, deliberate movement. ‘But you are. Terrified. Two-inhalers terrified.’

She wondered why he was removing his jacket when what he should really be doing was redoing his bow tie and returning to the party.

When she remained silent he raised an eyebrow and dropped his cufflinks onto the small writing table that faced the sea. ‘What, no comeback, Laurel? No incendiary statement designed to make me walk out? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Do you think I don’t know that?’ The sleeves of his shirt flopped over his strong hands and he folded them back and pushed them up his arms. She remembered those arms holding her and immediately looked away, rejecting the powerful surge of need. She’d always found it unfair that someone with such a casual attitude to his appearance could look so good in every situation.

‘You can stay or go, I don’t care. I don’t need you.’

‘Need and want are two different things.’ He looked at the inhaler clutched in her palm. ‘So your attacks are brought on by stress. That’s interesting. You weren’t stressed when we were together.’

‘As I said, that’s because I never saw you,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’ve seen more of you in the last twenty-four hours than I ever did during our marriage. Probably why I’m stressed.’

‘I’m stressed too. You are enough to drive a man crazy.’ His low drawl connected with her insides and suddenly that melting feeling low in her pelvis was back.

‘You only have to survive my company until Sunday. My flight leaves first thing in the morning.’

‘We have a meeting with the lawyers tomorrow morning.’

‘I don’t need to speak to them. Agree whatever you want and it will be fine by me.’

The mattress moved as he sat down next to her. ‘If you’re that angry with me then this is your chance to bleed me dry.’

‘It was never about the money, you know that.’

‘I don’t know anything because you never share anything. A relationship with you is one big guessing game.’ He sounded tired and witnessing that was a thousand times more unsettling than his anger or sarcasm because she’d never seen him tired. Cristiano had more energy than any man she’d ever met.

‘If you’d been around more you wouldn’t have had to guess.’ On that terrible day—the day he’d missed—her feelings had been there for all to see. Except the only witnesses had been the staff of the private hospital. Competent but brisk, they’d had no idea of the extent of her desolation. ‘I’ll fly home tomorrow. The last thing you need right now is your ex-wife at your sister’s wedding.’

‘Wife.’ The words were soft but firm. ‘You’re not my ex-wife.’

‘Soon will be.’ It was so dangerous, being this close to him. She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t dare move in case she brushed against him, so she held herself rigid.

‘Your breathing is better.’

‘So now you can go back to the party.’

He didn’t rise but he did give her a warning look. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa in the living room. Leave the door open. If you need anything you can call out.’

A lump settled in her throat. ‘Honestly, you don’t need to do this. Just go and answer the thousands of emails that will undoubtedly be waiting for you on your phone.’ She didn’t want him to behave decently now. It was too late.

‘So now you’re giving me permission to be insensitive?’

Yes, because anything different would complicate her feelings and she didn’t want that.

Her mind was straight. She wanted it to stay straight.

Laurel gave a shrug that was supposed to indicate that she didn’t care what he did. ‘If acting like a guard dog makes you feel better about yourself then at least let me be the one to sleep on the sofa.’

‘Why? I can sleep anywhere, you know that.’

She did know. In the middle of tough negotiations there had been nights when he’d slept in the office to avoid coming home in the middle of the night and waking her. ‘In that case, do whatever pleases you.’

When he reached out to switch off the lamp by the bed she caught his arm. ‘Leave it.’

It was such a cliché, but she hated the dark.

On her own, she always slept with a light on. Only with Cristiano had she been able to feel safe at night.

He frowned, his gaze steady and disturbingly perceptive. ‘I’ll stay with you for a few minutes, just until I’m sure you don’t need a doctor.’ As he pulled off his shoes and settled on the bed next to her she wanted to ask why he was doing this. Why he was he staying with her when they were no longer together. When it was much, much too late for their marriage.

They sat together in silence, close but not touching. As her breathing grew easier and the panic lessened, so her awareness of him grew. The length of his powerful thigh next to hers and his deep, even breathing. The connection between them, that dangerous indefinable chemistry that should have died along with her dreams, sprang to life.

Slowly, she turned her head and looked at him.

He turned his head too and his eyes fixed on hers.

Both should have looked away but neither of them did.

The inevitability of it was as sweet and sharp as the desire that stabbed through her body.

His hand lifted and his fingers dragged lightly over her jaw. The stroke of his thumb over her lower lip was gentle. When he lowered his head he did it slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he was actually going to follow through. His mouth brushed against hers. A teasing prelude. It was insane and she should have moved, but she couldn’t. Anticipation exploded inside her. For a few thrilling seconds his mouth hovered close to hers and then he lost his grip on control and took her mouth in a hard, devouring kiss that blew every thought from her brain. She tried to hold herself back, not to become involved, but his kiss drew her in until they merged, until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, until her whole world centred on what they became together. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair and they feasted on each other like animals driven wild by deprivation. It was intoxicating, the rush of sexual excitement as heady as any drug and just as dangerous.

Time passed unnoticed and then he gave a growl of self-denial and dragged his mouth from hers, regret visible in every plane of his handsome face. ‘No.’ The raw emotion in his voice reflected her own feelings.

‘No.’ The kiss had shaken her and it was no consolation to know it had shaken him too. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wasn’t trying to tempt him back. She wasn’t trying to instigate a reconciliation.

Her future didn’t include him and yet now everything was stirred up inside her. And even while she was cursing herself a tiny rogue part of her was thrilled at the fact he’d given in to temptation because she knew he exercised ruthless control over his impulses. She’d wanted this encounter to be difficult for him but what they’d just done had made it a thousand times more difficult for herself.

Laurel pulled away, dizzy with the contradictory thoughts that fought for supremacy in her head. She didn’t want him to want her. She didn’t want to want him. How was that going to help? It was just going to make an already difficult situation worse.

Cristiano sprang from the bed, lithe and supremely fit. ‘You’re right. I should sleep on the sofa. If you need a doctor in the night, call me.’ With that terse instruction and not even a glance in her direction, he left the room, leaving her body buzzing and her heart breaking.