Читать книгу The Italian's Summer Seduction - Karen Van Der Zee, Diana Hamilton - Страница 13

‘YOU KNOW WHY I brought you here,’ Cesare responded lightly and with the apparent sincerity that hid the initial much darker intent. ‘As I said to Nonna—in your hearing, as I remember—after your recent loss you need a break. I am not a complete monster.’

As her lovely eyes darkened with pain at the reminder of her mother’s death Cesare fisted his hands and cursed himself, bitterly regretting the glib distortion of his motives.

A devious little liar she might be, but she was capable of having deep feelings.

Unlike her twin.

The hedonistic Jilly would have shed a few facile tears at the loss of a parent, he assessed. But, knowing her as he did, he couldn’t imagine her having a single unselfish emotion. When pressed about her family she’d dismissed them with that irritating tinkling laugh, claiming her mother to be small-town, small-minded and her kid sister as being practical and deadly dull, too boring—Not our kind of people, not worth talking about, dahling.

But this one—Ebony brows clenched, he narrowed his eyes on her expressive features. Silky lashes were lowered to veil her dark green eyes, her soft pink mouth trembled just slightly and her glorious breasts were heaving with suppressed emotion. Yes, this twin had deep feelings, despite her manifest faults—

‘Come.’ His voice soft with sympathy and regret for his own insensitivity, he slotted an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into the sunlight. ‘We will walk, relax.’ Unbidden, his long fingers caressed the firm warm flesh of her upper arm before he realised what he was doing.

When he did he suffered the sharp reminder of her duplicity and his arm dropped back to his side in double quick time. His voice was flat with cynicism as he made himself focus on her deception and the punishment he was meting out. ‘As for the sleeping arrangements, there is a ground floor bedroom beyond the kitchen. If that is a disappointment to you, you only have to say so. On the other hand—’ his voice purred now, surprising him by its husky quality ‘—you might find yourself sleepless, wondering when I will give in to my baser instincts and seek the pleasures of your bed.’

‘More pasta?’ His voice was slow, deep and nerve-quiveringly sexy.

Milly shook her head, trying to cope with the sudden, highly unwelcome way her tummy muscles went into hot spasm. Nothing to do with the spicy tomato sauce and spaghetti they’d cooked together, working companionably enough with just the odd tingling frisson when they’d touched, hands brushing or bare arm gliding against bare arm, and everything to do with the way he made her feel.

As if she were walking a tightrope in a high wind without a safety net.

He’d been lying when he’d said he’d brought her here to give her a break; did he think she was stupid enough to believe that? He thought she was Jilly, his ex-lover, the woman he was blisteringly angry with. This so-called break was a punishment. And the worst thing was she had no idea what form that punishment would take.

And on another level entirely, she felt utterly disorientated. Nothing made sense.

Why had she warmed to him during the long afternoon as he’d shown her around his island, forgetting why she was here, the depth of her own deceit?

Why had she relaxed enough to enjoy every single moment of it?

Why couldn’t she blank out that refusing-to-budge memory of exactly how she’d felt when those long tanned fingers had caressed her arm, or the way he’d slipped a protective arm around her waist as they’d stood on top of the cliffs above the cove nearest the cottage, looking down to the white sands far below. ‘Tomorrow we will bathe,’ he’d told her, ‘take a picnic, spend the day.’

She’d felt dizzy. Not because the narrow zigzagging track down to the secluded beach looked hair-raising but because the warmth of his strong hand clamped to her waist had sent a quiver of heat across her breasts, rippling and stinging there until it had arrowed down to the pit of her stomach with devastating accuracy, making her go weak at the knees and catch her breath.

Now he said, ‘You are tired? You would like to go to bed?’

His low, husky drawl made it sound like an invitation. A slow burn ignited her skin. If it had really been an invitation would she have had the strength of will to turn it down? Or would she, like her poor betrayed sister, have accepted it with open arms, giving him her love only to have it tossed aside?

But it had been nothing of the sort, she decided shortly. What had he said earlier? That she would spend a sleepless night wondering if he would give in to his baser instincts and seek her bed.

Meaning he would have to overcome his fastidious distaste for having sex with a woman he believed to be a thief! But he’d been her sister’s lover before. Was he still in lust with her?

Lying sleepless—nerves screaming—and wondering!

No, thank you!

‘I’m fine,’ she said, glossing over her raging internal turmoil. ‘I’ll sit awhile. It’s so peaceful.’

And it was. Despite his presence.

Darkness was closing in. They’d eaten supper outside. There was a candle in a glass bowl on the table and she could hear the mesmeric whisper of the incoming tide. If it weren’t for worrying about his intentions, agonising over the way she was drawn to him, she could have believed she was in Paradise.

‘Fine!’ Cesare scoffed silently. She was nothing of the sort. Tension came off her in almost tangible waves. Worrying about the prospect of his probable sexual demands? As he’d intended her to, he conceded toughly. A small, easily justified revenge for the way she had set out to deceive him.

A contrary impulse to rise, go to her, massage the taut muscles of her neck and shoulders until she relaxed, leant back into him while he gave in to temptation and slid his hands down to slip beneath the top that left little to the imagination to caress her inviting breasts was slapped down hard before the erotic wanderings of his imagination could do any real damage.

Initially he’d fully intended to hit her with what he knew this evening, demand she tell him the whereabouts of the twin she was impersonating so badly. But during the day something had changed. He didn’t know how or why or even what, but changed it had.

He needed more time to find out what she was really like. He grimaced. More time to analyse his own ambivalent reactions to her was probably nearer the truth.

As he settled back into the shadows his long mouth curved with hastily manufactured cynicism as he watched her reach for the wineglass he’d refilled. Her hand shook. She set the glass down again. Fearful of spilling the contents, betraying herself?

He’d have to be brain dead to have missed the signs. The way her soft flesh had quivered whenever he’d touched her, the tell-tale huff of indrawn breath, the unmistakable peaking of her tight nipples against her silky top.

So would she welcome him if he went to her bed? The unbidden thought had shattering appeal, set his skin tingling with the slow burn of desire.

Dio mio! His tough jaw-line hard, Cesare shot to his feet. Male lust was taking him places he didn’t want to be. The object of this exercise had been to punish her, not himself!

‘Finish your wine.’ His voice emerged coldly. He didn’t look at her, didn’t trust himself to see the look of soft vulnerability she seemed incapable of hiding and not do something about it. Something he’d bitterly regret. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

As Cesare swept back into the cottage Milly expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She heard an inner door slam. The door to the ground floor sleeping quarters he’d talked about?

Whatever. He was suddenly riven with anger, that much she did know. But didn’t know why.

She passed a hand over her forehead in an attempt to rub away the tense frown lines. He was angry with Jilly, not with her, she had to remind herself. Keeping up with her dual identity was really getting to her.

She was finding the deception more than distasteful but at least it bought time she consoled herself as she hauled herself to her feet and began to stack the used dishes. More time for her to somehow figure a way of tracking her twin down, more time for Jilly to get over her going-nowhere affair with the charismatic far-too-sexy Italian tycoon so that she’d be in a stronger emotional state to argue her case, convince him that there had been some dreadful mistake.

And more time for her unwilling fascination with him to develop into a deeper phase? was the utterly disquieting thought that popped into her head.

Thrusting it aside as brutally as she knew how, she carried the dishes through and washed them at the deep stone sink and, drying her hands, listened to the silence until she felt calmer.

A door on the far wall, tucked between the dresser and a painted closet, a door she hadn’t noticed before, must lead to the bedroom he was using. Annoyingly, her eyes would keep straying to it. As if she were expecting Cesare to emerge, black hair damp from the shower, droplets glistening on the golden skin of his perfectly crafted torso, a towel slung low on his narrow hips?

Expecting? Wanting?

Ashamed of the burning heat, the sullen ache, that was claiming the most private part of her anatomy, she dragged in a shaky breath, turning her back on the door and carefully folded the towel she’d been using, naming herself for the worst kind of fool.

At least his manner of leaving her—anger because of what he thought Jilly had done taking precedence over what she, the imposter, guessed was his callous decision to exact sexual part payment for her perceived wrongdoing meant that she’d be safe from his desire to carry on from where he and her twin had left off.

Safe, too, from her own emerging weakness?

Even so, if there had been a key to her bedroom door she would have locked it.

‘The sea is waiting. Remember?’

The soft drawl brought Milly out of her troubled sleep at the speed of light, as if every nerve in her body had been hit by a bolt of lightning. Jerking up against the pillows, she belatedly tugged the sheet up to cover her breasts, bitterly regretting her decision to slip naked between the cool crisp sheets after her shower last night.

Embarrassment colouring her cheeks, deep emerald eyes flinchingly sought him beneath the tousled pale silk of her fringe. Sought and locked.

Casually leaning against the doorframe, incredibly sexy in narrow-fitting jeans and a sleeveless olive green T-shirt, he looked magnificent, magnetic, all male strength, lean lines, hard muscles.

Her breath stopped in her throat. Her eyes slid up to his face. That slight utterly devastating smile, the straight Roman nose that flared a little when he was angry, the dark as night eyes veiled now by impossibly thick and silky lashes.

It was so unfair!

If her worldly-wise sophisticated twin, who’d been wrapping besotted males around her little finger ever since she’d reached her late teens, hadn’t been able to resist falling for him then how the hell was she supposed to cope?

Conquests had always come so easily to Jilly, and had just as easily bored her. She’d always walked away without a single regret. But this time, if her hunch was right, Jilly had met more than her match. She’d finally fallen in love and Milly couldn’t blame her.

Worriedly she recalled that last postcard from Florence. It must have been sent just before Jilly had joined the Saracino household. She had been so sure that in the future money would be no object, that she would be able to repay her debts. She must have been convinced that her new lover would soon be her husband.

‘Get ready. We’ll eat breakfast on the beach and swim later,’ he delivered, fascinated by the blush that bloomed like wild roses on her cheeks. And turned away before he could get too fascinated by her naked state beneath the tangled sheet, tangled in a way that left one long, smooth and shapely leg exposed all the way to the apex of a creamy thigh, sternly reminding himself of the questions he had lined up for the lying little witch today.

He turned away, leaving the room, and Milly released a pent-up sigh of deep relief. She couldn’t believe how vulnerable she’d felt, lying here in a sheet and nothing else.

And the way he’d been looking at her, as if he could see right through the fine white cotton! Her whole body blushed and, to take her mind off it, she leapt out of bed and told herself she was doing fine. Just fine.

As she rummaged through her suitcase for something to wear she mentally ticked off all the pros.

So far he still had no idea that she wasn’t Jilly.

While that state of affairs remained he wasn’t out there hunting down the real Jilly, no doubt with a pair of handcuffs in his pocket.

He hadn’t made any attempt to get up close and personal.

She was sensible enough to slap him down if he did. Wasn’t she?

As for the cons.

There was the rest of the week to get through.

But she could hack it!

Sifting through Jilly’s cast-offs, she extracted an outrageous black bikini. Three triangles of fabric and a sort of thong thing. Her face went scarlet. Cleo must have added it to the pile while she had been helping her decide what to take. She, Milly, would never dream of flaunting herself in something so revealing!

She thrust it back into the case, then sat back on her heels, forcing herself to face facts.

Jilly would have no hesitation in wearing the thing. She was supposed to be Jilly, wasn’t she? So, to keep the impersonation going and not get found out, she was going to have to behave and dress as her twin would.

Not giving herself time to think about it, she put it on and smartly covered up with a pair of very brief pale lemon coloured shorts, the weird sandals and a sleeveless blouse in a toning, slightly darker lemon that tied just below her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, and went down to the kitchen before she could chicken out.

‘Coffee.’ Cesare pushed a mug of the fragrant brew across the kitchen table. He was seated, long legs outstretched, encased in faded denim. He was naked to the waist now; the tanned skin that stretched over whipcord muscles gleamed with health and vigour. Milly’s throat jerked. He was too much!

Feeling hot and bothered beneath his lazy scrutiny, she took the mug and carried it to the open door and leaned against the frame, looking out over the lush green valley so she didn’t have to look at him, doing her damnedest to appear relaxed. If only she knew what sort of game he was playing! It seemed as though he was making up the rules as he went along!

Before they’d arrived on the island he’d treated her as if she were beneath contempt, dark eyes filled with cold scorn, reinforcing what she already knew. That he was only suffering her presence beneath his roof and not hauling her before a judge because his grandmother had taken a real liking to her lively young companion. And his beloved Nonna’s happiness and wellbeing counted more than his own satisfaction at seeing her face prosecution.

Yet now—

‘It is a beautiful day, yes?’

Milly hadn’t heard him come to stand behind her and the sheer sensuality of his voice made her breath lock in her lungs and sent a skitter of sensation down the length of her spine.

She moved away, putting her coffee mug down on the outdoor table and managed, ‘So it is,’ and wondered when his motives would become clear. And what they were.

Getting her—Jilly—back into his bed? From the rapid alteration in his attitude, it kind of looked that way. The unwanted conclusion took her breath away and she snatched a deep gulp of fresh air, breathing in the scent of the sea and the abundant wild herbs.

‘Shall we go?’ He had joined her, a backpack hooked over one shoulder, bare feet in canvas deck shoes, sunlight gleaming on the skin of his torso making it look like oiled silk.

Her legs decidedly shaky, Milly followed, keeping behind him as the track leading to the cliff top narrowed. The way down to the beach looked more hair-raising than it had done yesterday.

‘Take my hand.’

‘I can manage.’

No way did Milly want physical contact. But he ignored her, taking her delicate hand in his much stronger one and he couldn’t have taken more care of her as he helped her negotiate the scary path if she’d been his best beloved. And observation that for a silly moment made her wish that she really was.

Her face red with embarrassment at the way her thoughts were taking her, Milly tugged her hand free the moment they reached the soft white sand of the cove, wishing again she’d never embarked on this crazy scheme. She had to remind herself firmly that now that she had to carry on with it as she watched him drop the rucksack in the shade of a rock.

Then he turned to face the sea, his dark head thrown back, his perfectly proportioned body stretching with sensual animal grace as he welcomed the warmth of the sun on his bronzed skin.

Milly told herself to look away but she couldn’t. He was magnificent, and when he turned to her, a grin making him look irresistible, and said, ‘We’ll swim first. Race you to the water!’ a skitter of something wicked attacked the length of her spine.

Those long tanned fingers of his were at his belt buckle. Milly’s heart began a wild tattoo as she became cringingly aware of the scanty nature of the so-called swim wear beneath her shorts and top.

She could always decline, refuse to go anywhere near the water. There was no law that said she had to.

But Jilly would never pass up on such an opportunity to flaunt her assets in front of such an eminently desirable male. She was no shrinking violet! Milly knew her twin inside out, knew how she would behave.

Here in this magical place, alone with the man she loved, she would be hoping to lure him into changing his mind about the veto on marriage, tempt him and then protest her innocence in the matter of theft. Milly was sure she couldn’t go that far, it was too dangerous. The protestations of innocence would have to come from her twin—and the tempting bit. But if she was going to continue to act the part of her twin then at least she had to stay in character.

As she forced herself to untie her top she noted that Cesare had shed his jeans and was now clad in brief black swim trunks that did zero to disguise his manhood. Gulping, she turned her back on him, her heart fluttering, nervous tension threatening to pull her apart as she reluctantly shed her top and muttered, ‘You go ahead. I don’t do racing.’

Cesare didn’t move. She was clearly uncomfortable. Desperately uncomfortable. Her back, naked save the narrow ribbons that must hold her bikini top in place, was taut with inner tension. Her fingers hesitated at the waistband of the shorts she was wearing.

Compassion twisted deep in his chest. Had her hard-nosed twin forced her into this charade against her will? It was beginning to look like it. The Jilly Lees of this world went full tilt to get what they wanted, never mind who got hurt in the process.

His hands fisted then uncurled at his sides as she took the plunge and stepped out of her shorts revealing smooth firm buttocks, long shapely legs. She was so beautiful. His heart jerked. And then she half turned and his mouth ran dry. The three scraps of fabric that pretended to be a bikini were outrageous, the bottom half barely held in place by a thong.

Exactly the sort of siren stuff her twin would choose. Plainly not expecting him to be still waiting, she shot him a wild look, her skin flaming, then fled for the sea. Following more slowly, Cesare actively disliked himself for putting her through this.

He should have told her he knew what was going on the moment they had set foot on the island, demanded to know where her twin was. Not played games.

Apart from short hair, short fingernails, she and Jilly were physically identical. Yet he had never been remotely attracted to her twin, finding her overt sexiness a distinct turn-off. Which led him to the uncomfortable conclusion that he was definitely attracted to the softer, gentler version.

Against his will. But still attracted.

As the cool aquamarine waters closed around her overheated body Milly relaxed just a little. She had truly believed he would have already been in the sea. But he’d been standing there all the time, watching her with those dark unreadable sexy eyes while she’d stripped off her top clothes. From the back she would have looked naked, she thought with a shudder of deep embarrassment, and from the front not a whole lot better. The tiny scraps of fabric did more to tantalise than to conceal.

And the way he’d looked at her—well, she wasn’t going to think about that! Striking out in a racing crawl, she kicked out for the headland that sheltered the cove.

She was a strong swimmer and loved the water. In fact she had won cups during her schooldays. It was the one area where she had left Jilly far behind. Jilly hated physical exertion.

For the first time since she’d made the momentous decision to go along with his belief that she was her twin sister, Milly felt free, at ease with herself and the watery elements as she stroked through the swells. But the rocky headland looked no nearer and at this rate she wouldn’t reach it until a week on Sunday—

A sudden surge, the impression that she was being attacked by an extra large and determined octopus, had Milly gasping, squirming as Cesare’s head emerged, sea water running in rivulets from his sleek head, his arms tight around her body.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she spluttered in outrage. She had headed out here to escape him for a short but precious time. But he’d followed. Wasn’t the ocean large enough for both of them?

He was spoiling her pleasure, wiping out that glorious feeling of freedom. ‘Let go of me!’ He was stopping her progress, what there had been of it. And worse, far worse, his grip meant their bodies were touching, breast to thigh. She could feel the hard determined strength of him against her slender curves and it was just too much. Her heart was pounding with the effort to stop herself from pressing much, much closer, winding arms and legs around every bit of him she could reach.

‘Saving you from drowning.’ His mouth was taut. The current here is deadly. As I would have warned you if you’d hung around long enough to listen.’ Treading water, he shook his head with a snap of impatience, water droplets scattering. ‘Head back. Now!’

Shuddering, Milly became aware of the undertow she’d unknowingly been fighting for the last few minutes, dragging them steadily and inexorably towards the horizon.

Frightened now, she struck out, fighting against the current, heading back to the distant shoreline, aware that Cesare was shadowing her, modifying his progress to hers, and she was more grateful than he would ever know because, strangely, she felt that nothing could harm her while he was with her.

When at last they were clear of the undertow he powered ahead of her and, seconds later, it seemed, he stood up, finding bottom, the gently swelling water reaching his trim waist.

Waiting. His features like a thunderstorm.

Milly swam slowly towards him, her lungs still burning from her strenuous fight against the undertow, the calm surface water hiding the danger. As soon as she was within reach Cesare slid his hands beneath her arms and hauled her to her feet and bit out with blistering fury, ‘Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again!’ his eyes black with fury. His hands tightened on her slender shoulders. ‘Dio mio! You could have died, you bird-brained little fool!’

And he could have died trying to save her, was her initial mortifying thought, fully aware that he would not have stood idly by and watched her put herself in danger. But his bellowed insult moved her to self defence and she raised her chin, her heart still pounding from her efforts, her breasts heaving, pushing against the clinging, useless scraps of fabric and snapped right back, ‘How was I to know? And you can stop yelling!’

She shimmied her shoulders wildly, trying to loosen his punishing grip, but his hands just slid down to her waist, tugging her towards him with a bitten out, ‘You—’ Then his mouth was on hers with forceful, angry passion, one hand pressing her body into his until she could feel the imprint of every muscle, the shocking hardness of his arousal against the wet quivering flesh of her tummy, the other hand behind her head, holding her against any hope of escape.

Not that escape entered her mind. She had never experienced anything like this—this hot searing passion, this crazy escalation of sensation, setting every atom of her flesh on fire.

Milly’s arms wound up to coil around his neck, her lips parting in instinctive eager welcome and she heard him groan, low and deep, his mouth gentling, moving sensually as his tongue stroked hers for giddying moments before moving down and taking the hard crest of her breast after nudging the unresisting scrap of wet fabric aside.

Cesare moved slowly towards the shore, taking her with him, bodies moving as one, clinging, lost in drugged pleasure, and his mouth explored now, gentle, awestruck by the sweet perfection of her, the soft hollow at her temples, the tender underside of her jaw, her throat where a pulse was beating madly. His hands moved, disposing of the flimsy scraps that were an insult to the pert glory of her peaking breasts.

Bewitching.

He was bewitched.

His hands moved, shaped her breasts then the tips of his fingers explored her tight nipples and the air in his lungs felt hot and heavy as she threw her head back, her eyes closing, her soft pink lips parted as her hips moved with instinctive rhythm against his rampant arousal.

Shock waves of sensation had him almost stumbling as his feet encountered the hot sand of the secluded beach. His mouth took hers with almost savagely passionate intent as he drew her down on to the sand and groaned with all male pleasure as she wrapped her lovely legs around his hips and trembled.

Madness.

Irresistible madness.

She was open to him. And hot. Hot. Hot.

‘Bella, bella, bella—’