Читать книгу The Italian's Summer Seduction - Karen Van Der Zee, Diana Hamilton - Страница 15

STARING AT THE back of Stefano’s neck and thankful for the sleek, top-of-the-range vehicle’s effective air-conditioning that helped her feel marginally less sticky and uncomfortable, Milly vowed that the moment she and Cesare got some privacy she would come clean, tell him everything and take his understandable and flaying anger because she guessed she deserved it.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore the bombardment of nerves that was turning her stomach upside down and inside out at the thought that after his initial rage would come his scornful hatred. She tried to concentrate on figuring out why Cesare, cool and brooding and speechless at her side, had insisted she go to Florence with him and what he had meant when he’d told her she could change later.

She would have asked him there and then but she positively knew she wouldn’t get the whole truth, just something bland, fit for Stefano’s ears.

When the car at last drew to a halt in front of the Saracino Palace she stared at the opulent Renaissance building with wide-eyed awe. During one of her long chatty conversations with Filomena the old lady had mentioned in passing that the hotel had been in their family for decades, as if it was no big deal!

Unable to imagine what it must be like to belong to a family that had old money coming out of its ears—not to mention the gigantic profits that came from a world-spanning business empire, Milly settled to wait as Cesare fired off instructions in Italian to Stefano and slid his long legs to the pavement, imagining that perhaps she was to be dropped somewhere else in the city and returned at an hour of Cesare’s choosing.

But the door at her side swung open and she found herself staring into that darkly sexy face, her stomach flipping as he commanded with impatience at her glued to her seat stance, ‘Come, we are blocking the traffic.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought—’

‘Basta! Just move it!’

Only now aware of the cacophony of car horns Milly slid out, appalled by the way her borrowed miniskirt skidded up to reveal her no-nonsense white panties, flushing to the roots of her pale blonde hair as someone vented a loud wolf-whistle. Her colour in no way subsided as Cesare clamped a lean bronzed hand on her elbow and hustled her on to the pavement as a uniformed doorman gave him a deferential greeting.

Respect and genuine warmth enveloped him on all sides, Milly noted as he strode with her over the cool marble paving of the immense reception area. She was horribly aware of the same eyes assessing her, though.

His staff probably thought she was some slapper he’d picked up off the street and, her slim shoulders slumping as she tried to make herself invisible, she muttered uncomfortably, ‘I’m not dressed for this place and if you’re thinking of eating here—’ he had told Filomena he wanted to give her dinner ‘—I’d rather find a back street joint,’ and found herself ushered into a private lift and whisked upwards.

Cesare, leaning back against the satin finished steel wall, studied her through veiled eyes. The blonde silk of her hair tumbled into her eyes and her lovely mouth was a mutinous pink pout and she winced whenever she took a step in the ridiculous heels she was wearing. His heart ached for her discomfort and he marvelled at the feeling of guilt that consumed him over what was to come.

Telling her he was fully aware that she was not who she was pretending to be would shame and embarrass her and he hated the thought of that, of doing or saying anything to hurt or discomfit her, and tried to make sense of the immense protective feelings she aroused in him. Shifting his position uneasily he hoped he wasn’t turning soft, losing his edge!

But it had to be done, he reminded himself with cool determination as the doors whispered open directly on to the sitting room of the elegant suite kept exclusively for his use.

Milly’s spiky heels sank into the depth of the soft jade-green carpet that covered a vast room in which a group of pale lemon silk-covered upholstered armchairs surrounded a long low marble-topped table, the rest of the furniture being ornate antiques, the Tuscan landscapes on the silk-covered walls framed with gilded opulence.

‘This suite is kept for my use,’ he imparted coolly, slapping down his libido and ignoring the growing need to kiss her again, to discover if she would respond as beautifully as she had on that never to be forgotten occasion. ‘And for the use of important clients or occasional business colleagues.’

Had he brought Jilly here? Had he insisted on conducting their affair away from the prying eyes of his grandmother and his staff at the villa? A shiver coursed through her and only stopped when she got her brain into gear and remembered that he thought she was Jilly and if he’d brought her here before he wouldn’t be making those explanations.

This ridiculous and utterly hateful situation had to end! Gathering all her courage, her confession on the tip of her tongue, her eyes shot to his as he forestalled her. ‘I have something for you.’

His eyes were warm—she would have said tender had she been in the habit of giving way to wild imaginings. And his smile made her forget what she’d been going to say as he led her through to a sumptuous bedroom where half a dozen classy boxes were laid out on the satin coverlet of the enormous half tester bed.

‘I had these delivered. Replacements for the clothes you left behind on the island in your desire to waste not one moment because you understood my haste to fly to Nonna’s side. I hope you approve, I explained your size and your characteristics in detail.’

He sounded like a sultan bestowing favours on the newest member of his harem, she thought wildly, and just knew the boxes would contain thongs, miniskirts and see-through tops, the sort of overtly sexy stuff Jilly went for—all singing, all dancing, look-at-me stuff!

A hand in the small of her back he edged her forwards, towards the bed, but she dug her heels in and said, ‘I can’t take them!’ And then, because that sounded really ungrateful because he obviously believed he’d been doing her—Jilly—a favour and no one liked having their generosity and good intentions shoved back at them, she amended, ‘It was a nice thought but I can’t take them.’ She dragged in a huge breath and got out in a rush, ‘I’m not Jilly. I’m her twin sister. I’m sorry to have deceived you, but I did have my reasons.’

For a long moment Cesare found it impossible to articulate a single word for the flood of relief that took his breath away. Many signs had told him that she was deeply uncomfortable with the situation she had put herself in—or her twin had forced her into—but finally she had found the courage to tell him the truth and saved him from having to accuse her. He admired her for that. More than admired her? He shelved that question and studied her instead.

Her long lashes veiled the brilliance of her eyes as she stared at the floor and her face was pale, her shoulders tense as if she were expecting a blow. Or his anger.

Quick to disabuse her of that expectation, he put a gentle forefinger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his.

Her colour returned in a flood. Milly felt it in the hot burn of her skin as she met the steady intensity of those dark-as-night eyes and dizziness almost overwhelmed her as he announced softly, ‘I know, Milly. I began to have suspicions almost as soon as we reached the villa from England. They were confirmed by telephone on the following morning just before we set out for the island. Jilly Lee had an identical twin, Milly.’

‘Oh!’ Her heart began to pound and her knees turned to unset jelly. ‘Why? Why didn’t you—?’

‘Say something?’ he supplied and, placing a steadying arm around her waist, he led her to a white velvet upholstered chaise and watched while she sank on to it with every appearance of wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. ‘I made a mental date on several occasions to hit you with what I knew but something always happened to make me hold back.’ He folded his lean powerful length on to the seat beside her and a smile warmed his voice to smooth honey. ‘And in retrospect I’m glad. My first intention was to let you stew during that first day on the island and then come down on you like several tons of bricks. Had I done so I would not have discovered how unlike your twin you really are.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Milly said strickenly, her breath catching in her throat. He was so close that the spicy, faintly lemony, husky male scent of him was in her nostrils; it made every nerve-ending in her body quiver. She felt punch drunk by his proximity and knew she shouldn’t.

A tiny whimper of distress escaped her and Cesare sprang to his feet and strode out of the room, so lithe and graceful he made her heart ache, and she didn’t know whether to be grateful because the raging anger she’d braced herself to meet hadn’t materialised or whether to curl up with smothering humiliation because all the time he’d known she wasn’t Jilly and must have been laughing his silk socks off at her useless attempts to pretend she was.

Returning moments later, Cesare put a glass into her hands, closing her fingers around the cut crystal bowl. ‘A little brandy. You are in shock, I think.’

He sounded so damned complacent! Milly tossed the fiery liquid back and a rare upsurge of rage had her blurting, ‘So all the time you were laughing at me! Watching me make a fool of myself! I hate you!’

‘No, you don’t,’ Cesare stated with infuriating calm and prised the empty glass from her tense fingers. ‘Whatever emotions you have inspired in me, mirth wasn’t one of them. I admit to being as furious as an angry bull when I first had my suspicions confirmed. That changed to interest. Why had you stepped into your twin’s shoes—quite literally—when you are so unlike each other?’

‘Not so!’ Milly contradicted, the effect of the alcohol in her bloodstream making her reckless. ‘We wear our hair differently, that’s all. Jilly would never wear hers short, but you weren’t to know that.’

‘Superficially you look alike, providing one scrapes away the layers of make-up your sister uses. But deep down, where it matters, you are astonishingly different.’ On that assurance, he cupped her flushed face with both hands. ‘Jilly is hard, self centred. Manipulative. Charming when it serves her purpose but insincere. She flaunts her sex to get what she wants. That makes her ugly.’

The balls of his thumbs stroked her delicate cheekbones and Milly’s heart missed a beat then turned over, making her forget what she’d been about to say in her sister’s defence as he continued. ‘You are beautiful. You are warm and gentle, caring. Yet unafraid to speak your mind if you think someone else has suffered an injustice—as you rebuked me, quite rightly, when my recent anxiety made me speak sharply to my grandmother. I admire that. That is the difference that sticks out a thousand miles.’

Glorying in the touch of his hands, heat curling deep in her pelvis, her nipples shamingly prominent, it was all Milly could do to stop herself from hurling herself at him, hold him close, beg him to kiss her.

She had to remind herself very vigorously that he was merely being kind to someone who’d just been shocked to learn she’d been the biggest fool in Christendom. Showing him that she wanted him quite desperately would only make her look an even bigger fool in his eyes than she already did!

‘Now—’ his hands left her face as he unfurled his impressive length and rose to his feet ‘—all this must have been difficult for you. Come—’ he took her hand and urged her to her feet ‘—you will shower and change into something more suited to you and then we will eat and you will explain why you felt it necessary to impersonate your sister.’

Loving the feel of his strong fingers as they curled around her own, and despising herself for that weakness, Milly allowed herself to be escorted to the bed. ‘Choose what you would like to change into,’ he suggested, hitting the nail on the head with the shrewdness she was beginning to expect from him when he added, ‘You clearly are not comfortable in your sister’s choice of clothing.’

That comment needed no reply but Milly’s hands were unsteady as, at his prompting, she opened the nearest box and gasped as Cesare plucked a dream of a dress from the tissue layers. Delicate voile in subtle soft stripes of oyster and pale pink, it had a discreet V neckline, a slightly bloused bodice and a soft flowing skirt below the neat waistline. It was just the sort of dress she would have bought herself had she ever been remotely able to afford to do so.

Quelling her excitement as further goodies were revealed—tailored linen trousers, cream-coloured and light charcoal, elegant shirts, cool filmy skirts and tops, shoes with neat kitten heels, delicate fine cotton underwear hand-embroidered with pretty sprays of forget-me-nots—Milly felt deeply regretful as she stressed, ‘I can’t possibly accept all this.’

‘But of course you can.’ Cesare swept her objection aside with a downward slash of one long-fingered hand. ‘Look on these things as payment in lieu of wages.’

‘You said I had to work for nothing,’ she reminded him sternly because so far he had held the moral high ground and she was determined to snatch some of it for herself. Gentle and caring in his eyes—although she had never looked at herself in that light—but a doormat she most certainly wasn’t!

But as usual he had an unassailable come-back. ‘I made that stipulation when I believed I had cornered your sister. You are not your sister. You have put in the hours caring for my grandmother. Reading to her, chatting, bringing her flowers, taking her mind away from her injuries. I wouldn’t expect anyone to work for my family for nothing. I suggest you take that shower and get out of that thing you are wearing.’

Cesare turned away. The temptation to take that tacky apology for a skirt off her, strip the tight-fitting matching leather top from her lovely body and join her in the shower was overwhelming. An over-active libido? Or something else?

Milly had given up trying to figure him out. Basically he was a good man. He cared for his staff, was always polite and considerate in his dealings with them and he adored the grandmother who’d brought him up after he’d been orphaned. So, knowing she wasn’t the twin who stood accused of theft in his eyes, he had been kind to her, mostly, especially after he’d decided not to come down on her like several tons of bricks.

It really puzzled her. And it was pointless trying to figure it out and tying her brain in knots, she decided as she stepped out of the most welcome shower she’d ever taken in her life.

Wrapping herself in one of the huge fluffy bath sheets, a different thought struck her like a bolt of lightning and robbed her of the ability to breathe, to move.

When he’d started to make love to her it hadn’t been because he believed she was his ex-lover as she’d thought. He’d known she wasn’t!

It was she, Milly, who’d turned him on!

Her gaze met her reflection in one of the floor to ceiling mirrors and her heart jumped. Her eyes looked huge, sparkling and her mouth looked swollen, soft, as if she’d just been kissed to within an inch of her life.

Smothering an internal groan she turned away and began to towel dry her hair with startling vigour. She wasn’t going to go there! It was a non-starter of a track, ending nowhere!

She would just enjoy feeling fresh and clean, her skin perfumed with the fragrant body lotion she had found and was using lavishly. She slipped on the pretty undies and the dream of a dress, which fitted her to perfection and made her look cool, classy and strangely elegant—a far cry from the way she’d presented herself in Jilly’s cast-offs.

Locating a comb on the dressing table, she ran it through her silky hair and was ready. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the pair of oyster-coloured butter-soft leather kitten heels she’d selected and walked to the en suite bathroom door, ready now to do her utmost to convince Cesare that Jilly wasn’t a thief, that there must have been some terrible mistake. To beg him to try to trace her whereabouts because she was growing increasingly anxious for her vanished twin’s well-being.

As she entered the bedroom Cesare appeared in the doorway that led to the sitting room.

He had shed his suit jacket and his silk tie and there was a tension about the broad shoulders beneath the fine white cotton of his shirt. After a timeless head to toe scrutiny his eyes held hers for what seemed to Milly like long breathless moments, as if he could reach into her soul and read it.

And then he smiled. Slow and devastating. And commanded, his voice thick, ‘Come here.’