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CHAPTER EIGHT

Three months later

LARA GAVE HERSELF over completely to the explosion of sensation as it hit, savouring the sweet release from devouring hunger.

Still breathing hard, she forced her lids apart as Raoul rolled off her and lay next to her.

‘Oh, wow, that was—’

‘Just sex.’

The words had pretty much the same effect as a bucket of cold water; they usually did.

She hid her hurt in sarcasm. ‘And there was me thinking it was the start of something special, but I’m terribly grateful that you keep reminding me, because you’re so irresistible I might not be able to stop myself falling in love with you.’

Raoul didn’t react. He just levered himself out of bed in one fluid motion and began to collect the clothes he had dropped on the floor when he had not quite made it out of the door earlier.

‘As you’re a god among men...a—’

‘Cut it out, Lara.’

She smiled and added sourly, ‘Unfortunately no sense of humour, so that’s it, I’m afraid. I’d never fall in love with a man who can’t laugh at my jokes.’ Or for that matter a man she knew every woman he encountered imagined naked. To marry that sort of man you’d need either impregnable self-confidence or a lack of imagination.

‘I could never love a woman who—’ He looked into the clear green eyes laughing up at him and his half-smile vanished.

There was nothing else to add. He could never love a woman. Love had almost destroyed him once; love was never going to enter into this or any other relationship he had.

He had been uneasy about the sense of connection he sometimes felt until he realised this was down to the fact that, since Lucy, his time with women had been counted in nights whereas he had been sharing a bed and his body with Lara for three months. Another three and she would vanish from his life.

Lara sensed his withdrawal. He did that so often—the sudden mood change, the broody silences—she’d stopped reacting to it.

‘You’ve lost a button,’ she said, watching him fasten his shirt and thinking he’d need a sense of humour or a stiff drink when she finally told him her news.

He dragged back his dark hair with an impatient hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m late.’

She smiled. Late was good; late was a legitimate excuse for not telling him.

‘So, Friday...?’ She managed to say it as if not seeing him for four days were no big deal, but the truth was she missed him—or, as Raoul would have no doubt explained, she missed the sex.

The first twenty-four hours of their married life had pretty much set the pattern of the days and nights to come: he would leave on Sunday evening or Monday morning and come back Thursday or Friday.

Lara recognised she was pretty much the classic mistress, just with a ring and the social recognition that went with that. Social recognition meant she got treated with respect, which in turn meant she could have lunched out every day, had she chosen to, and was regularly asked to lend her name to any number of charities and good causes.

At first she had refused, until she’d realised she was in danger of becoming the woman who only came to life when the man in her life deigned to share her bed. He shared nothing else though, which, as she frequently told herself when bitterness crept in, was a good thing.

She couldn’t let herself develop any feelings for him beyond lust; she could not allow herself to feel things that would make her hurt when the arrangement reached its inevitable and sad conclusion.

She’d grown fond of Sergio, which was fine because she was allowed to be fond of him.

‘No.’

Her eyes lifted to discover he was standing by the door. Lara shook her head. ‘No?’

‘I’m not going away this week.’

‘Why not?’

His eyes slid from hers. ‘I have a meeting with grandfather’s oncologist later in the week.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘I should be h—back early.’

Now she was familiar with Raoul’s work ethic and his relentless stamina, Lara was able to translate ‘early’ as somewhere between twelve and one a.m.

Too late to hit him with her bombshell.

Oh, she was delaying the inevitable, but why not? What was the hurry? Considering his attitude it was small wonder that she was dreading delivering the speech. She had tried a dozen versions, but nothing worked.

Maybe she should settle for a simple, ‘I’m sorry,’ because now it couldn’t be just sex.

There was a baby.

After he left, she went back to the bathroom and pulled out the pregnancy-testing kit she’d hidden under some toiletries. She’d bought six and this was the last one left.

Her last hope.

Only there was no hope—she knew that even before she saw the line appear on the strip.

She spent the morning with Sergio. Roberto joined them mid-morning and they spent time going through albums, looking at snapshots of Raoul and Jamie when they were boys. In all the photos she had seen, Raoul’s elder brother looked like a softer, fairer version of him—Raoul without the hard edges or dark outlook.

Though in the one that had got to her Raoul had had no edges. Nothing much more than a toddler, he had stood beside Jamie, staring not into the camera but up at his brother with an expression of childish adoration on his face.

The poignancy of it had filled her throat with tears that she couldn’t hold back. It was her hormones, she knew that, but the two men with her had tactfully pretended not to notice her emotional reaction as she’d excused herself and left the room, leaning against a wall in the hallway before she gave in to the gulping sobs that shook her body.

By lunchtime she felt so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open so, after playing with the food laid out for her, she went to lie down.

She only intended to close her eyes but when she woke the clock told her she had slept for three hours. She’d missed her riding lesson.

She splashed some water on her face in the bathroom and, brushing back her hair, rubbed her pale cheeks to put some colour back into them before she went through to the bedroom.

Her heart stopped when she saw Raoul, who was hanging his jacket around the back of a chair. He looked up as she entered, his eyes darkening when he saw her.

‘You’re here...now... I thought...’

‘I thought you’d be out...you look...’ Raoul reached out, clamped an arm around her ribs, and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was bruising and hungry, driving the breath from her lungs. ‘Sorry about that, it’s just I’ve been thinking about it all day.’ He smoothed a copper strand from her cheek and kissed her again, more softly this time, his skilled lips gently moving across hers.

With a groan of reluctance he pushed her away from him and, heading towards the bathroom, growled, ‘Hold that thought,’ over his shoulder. ‘I’ve been shut in an office with broken air conditioning trying to soothe senior management fears that I’m about to sack everyone just for the hell of it.’

* * *

Lara sat on the bed listening to the shower, wondering how he was going to react to the news. Not well was a given. Feeling dizzy with anxiety, she walked across to the chair and picked up his jacket, intending to hang it up properly. Raoul’s phone slid onto the carpet and as she bent to pick it up she asked herself what she was scared of the most—becoming a mother or his reaction to the news he was to be a father.

For goodness’ sake, Lara, just deal with it, because it really isn’t going to go away.

A hint of defiance crept into her face as she looked at the phone, remembering all the times the shrill, teeth-clenching ringtone had proved there was always something more important than her in his life. With a determined little grimace she switched it off and guiltily slid it back into his pocket.

A moment later Raoul walked in, his dark hair slicked with water and his golden-toned skin gleaming like polished bronze against the dark towel he had looped low on his narrow hips.

Lara lurched from panic mode into weak-with-lust mode even before he reached her. The towel vanished as he laid her on the bed and slid a hand under her shirt over the warm skin of her narrow ribcage.

‘I want to talk, Raoul.’

He stopped nuzzling her neck long enough to smile his brilliant head-spinning smile and ran his tongue across her lips. ‘We can talk later.’

She had tried, she really had.

It was an hour later when she sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin.

‘We really need to talk, Raoul.’

‘I do not need to talk.’

She responded with a hissing sound of exasperation.

‘Now?’

She closed her eyes so she could ignore the invitation in his eyes.

‘Yes, now.’

‘Fine. I’m listening.’

‘Put on some clothes first.’

He looked bemused by the request and then smirked when she growled gruffly, ‘I can’t concentrate.’

‘Right, will this do?’

She nodded. She had used the time while he dragged on a pair of jeans and a sweater to retrieve her skirt and shirt from the crumpled heap.

When the silence stretched he arched an interrogative brow.

Lara nodded and began to clear her throat but before she could launch into speech there was an imperative hammering at the door.

Frowning, Raoul opened it, barking out a question in Italian to the member of his grandfather’s security team standing there.

The other man replied in the same language.

‘My grandfather collapsed and was taken to hospital two hours ago! Why,’ he responded in icily articulated English, ‘am I only hearing this now?’

‘It’s my fault.’

He swirled back to a miserable-looking Lara. ‘What?’

‘I turned off your phone,’ she admitted.

‘Why the hell did you do that?’

Lara shot a glance towards the staff member, who looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Raoul ignored the hint and raised a brow, intoning heavily, ‘I’m waiting.’

Resenting the fact that he was treating her like a naughty schoolgirl, she couldn’t deny how guilty she would feel if he didn’t get to say goodbye to his grandfather.

‘You looked so tired.’ This was one of those times when even part of the truth sounded lame.

‘I looked—!’ He bit off his incredulous rejoinder and grabbed his key. He spoke to the solemn-faced messenger in Italian too rapid for Lara to even begin to follow and waited until the man had gone before he turned back to her. ‘You’re in danger of taking your wifely duties a little too seriously. You’re here to look the part, not actually be it.’

She felt the heat of humiliation sting her cheeks. She’d crossed lines she hadn’t known were there before, and made inevitable social faux pas, but previously he’d never lashed out at her for it. ‘Fine. I’ll move into the guest room, shall I?’

‘That question might be academic.’ He gave her one last furious look before leaving.

It was past nine when the phone finally rang. Lara picked it up, a feeling of sick dread in her stomach.

‘He wants to see you.’

‘How is he? Has he...? What’s happened—?’ She was talking to herself. Raoul had hung up.

Five minutes later she got into her car—well, the documents said it was hers, but, like her life at the moment, she knew she had it on loan.

Babies were not for three months or even six. Babies were for ever!

She pushed the thought away. She could barely deal with the present, let alone the unknown and scary future!

* * *

When she parked her car in the clinic car park, almost immediately one of Sergio’s security detail appeared to escort her inside, and the man’s normally impassive face showed signs of emotion as he told her that Sergio had been watching his favourite horse be put through his paces when he collapsed.

‘Do you know how...?’

The man shook his head and stood to one side as she walked through the glass doors ahead of him. Raoul was waiting on the other side; the sight of his grey-tinged, exhausted face made her heart squeeze in her chest.

She was anticipating his anger; the relief that spread across his face felt like a kiss.

She caught his hand between both of hers. ‘I’m sorry I turned your phone off. It was not my call to make. If I’d any idea...’ she said earnestly. ‘But I was with him this morning and he seemed to be having a good day.’

He shook his head, seemingly unable to take his eyes off his hand sandwiched between hers. ‘I overreacted,’ he admitted. ‘He collapsed at the stables, and they airlifted him here. It’s this way.’

Realising she was still holding his hand, she dropped it, muttering an awkward sorry before falling in step beside him.

At the door of the hospital room Raoul stopped and drew her to one side, aware as he did so of the scent of her hair. ‘Just to warn you,’ he began abruptly.

Her eyes lifted and his hands fell from her shoulders. He dug his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers. ‘He looks...’

With a soft curse he pulled his mobile from his pocket and turned away, but not before Lara had seen the blank screen or the expression on his face.

Overwhelmed by a rush of compassion that threatened to crush her chest, she could see the muscles along his strong jaw clenching as he outlined the situation. ‘He’s had a stroke, a complication of the drug regime. He looks...’

When his harsh voice broke, Lara’s heart ached with sympathy. She touched his hand and he looked at her fingers on his wrist. For a moment she thought he’d shake her off but instead he turned his wrist and threaded his long fingers in hers, oblivious to the crushing pressure he was exerting. He took a deep breath and finished huskily, ‘Broken, he looks broken.’

‘I understand.’

Raoul doubted it. The doctor’s warning had not prepared him for the reality of his grandfather’s condition. ‘Just don’t let him—’ He directed a warning look at her.

What did he think she was going to do, Lara wondered, look horrified or run from the room? Is that the person he thinks I am?

The answer was depressing. That was exactly the person he thought she was—a selfish, shallow thrill-seeker, an individual incapable of considering another person’s feelings, let alone possessing any herself that might get bruised.

The knowledge hurt more than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.

‘He’s a proud man and for him this...’ Bad enough that the cancer was eating him alive, fate had not even allowed him a dignified, clean exit.

Lara’s anger subsided as quickly as it had emerged, replaced by guilt and a painful throb of empathy as she watched Raoul close his eyes, the muscles in his brown throat working as he fought to contain his own emotions.

‘Of course,’ she said quietly as she withdrew her hand from his.

Raoul preceded her into the room, his body initially blocking her view of the figure in the bed.

‘Lara’s here, late as usual.’

Despite Raoul’s warning, Lara was shocked by the appearance of Sergio. Since she had known him, she had been conscious of the slow physical decline that even the best tailoring could not conceal, but the man in the bed attached to tubes and monitors, one side of his face twisted and frozen, was a grotesque caricature of the man who had once walked into a room and caused heads to turn.

Then she saw the eyes in the wrecked face. They were alert, so, squaring her shoulders, she donned a smile.

* * *

Raoul watched as Lara went forward, bending close to kiss the stiff cheek, something he had been unable to make himself do, before taking a chair and pulling it up beside the bed.

His grandfather spoke. The words perhaps had meaning in his head but they emerged slurred and garbled. Lara responded as though she understood what he was saying.

Raoul had no control over the emotion that broke free in his chest, and no cheque in the world, he decided, was big enough to repay the debt he owed her.

* * *

Half an hour later they walked side by side, not touching, to the car park.

‘Are you all right to drive home alone?’

She turned her head but the glistening sheen of tears in her eyes made his face a blur. ‘I could stay if you’d like?’

He stifled his instinctive response but the impulse disturbed him. There were times when he was aware that she gave more than he should expect and got very little in return. She played her part so well that often the ‘supportive wife’ act seemed real, not that he knew a lot about supportive wives, but he did know a lot about women who could act a part.

And that, after all, was what he had wanted. He had to remind himself that this was a job for Lara, not a life choice. And anyway, who in their right mind would choose to share their life with him?

Suddenly disgusted with his inability to face the truth and too tired to maintain the illusion, he accepted it. No relief came as he acknowledged that life with Lucy had broken him, he couldn’t give or receive love, and that was a disability as much as a lost limb.

The knowledge lay like a stone where his heart once was as he shook his head.

‘That isn’t necessary. What did you say that made him look so happy?’

She lifted her eyes to his face, took a deep breath, and admitted with a rush, ‘I told him I was pregnant.’

She watched as Raoul’s dark winged brows lifted and a shocked grunt vibrated in his chest. A series of emotions flickered across his normally guarded features, finally settling into an expression of warm approval that lit a responsive glow inside her.

Lara had never needed anyone’s approval in her life; even now with the glow inside her it was frightening to realise, to admit, how much she craved Raoul’s good opinion.

‘That was kind.’

She paused. This was the moment, but was it the right moment? Did the right moment even exist...? Then right or wrong it was gone, and the correction stayed in her head.

‘Are you sure you’re all right to drive back alone?’ he asked again, noticing for the first time the pallor of her creamy skin and the faint shadows beneath her emerald eyes.

Had she lost weight recently? he wondered, his suspicions aroused as he took in the prominence of her delicate collarbones.

‘You’re not on some stupid diet, are you?’

Lara responded to his glowering disapproval with an odd little laugh and moved her head in a negative motion.

‘I’m fine.’ Pregnancy was not a disease, though she suspected the person who had said that had never suffered from morning sickness.

He made no comment but didn’t look entirely convinced as he pulled his eyes from the visible blue-veined pulse that beat at the base of her throat and directed a hard look at her face.

‘I thought I’d stay a while, sit with him.’ His dark eyes shifted to the low sprawling terracotta-tiled building behind them that looked more like a hotel resort than a private hospital. The one thing his grandfather had not wanted was to spend his last days in a hospital bed. But life was filled with things that a man wanted but could not have, he thought bleakly.

‘Let me stay, Raoul...?’

He shrugged. ‘What would be the point?’

She hid her hurt at the rejection under a smile and withdrew the hand she had extended towards him. ‘No point at all.’

* * *

The phone call she had been half expecting came just after midnight. Lara was sitting on the balcony of their bedroom breathing in the fragrance of the pines on the warm night breeze. It was the call she had been expecting, but not the caller.

‘Hello, Lara, I hope I didn’t disturb you.’

An image of the elegant, petite Italian brunette flashed into her head.

‘Not at all, Naomi,’ she said, wincing at the stiff formality of her response and wondering why she could never relax around the Italian woman.

‘Raoul asked me to ring you and let you know that Sergio passed away about an hour ago.’

Lara’s sadness was alleviated by the knowledge that the proud old man would not have to suffer any longer. ‘Thank you for letting me know. Raoul, is he at the hospital still? I’ll come—’

‘That’s fine, Lara, he asked me to tell you not to come. Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.’

* * *

It was around three in the morning when Raoul arrived back at the palazzo. Lara heard him and called out from the library where she’d been awaiting his return.

‘I thought you might come.’ He struggled to keep the note of irrational accusation out of his voice. Naomi had relayed Lara’s message that she wouldn’t be coming.

‘I don’t blame Lara one bit. Who wouldn’t want to stay in their warm bed? The last section of that road would be any tourist’s nightmare, Raoul.’

He felt a stab of guilt. Naomi had been really supportive and his response to her comment had been a lot sharper than he’d intended.

‘Lara isn’t a tourist, she’s my wife.’

But for how much longer?

Finally acknowledged, the question refused to go back to the dark corner he had consigned it to. Such avoidance was not like him. Raoul could only suppose that his behaviour had been influenced by his grandfather’s determination not to live his last days in fear of the future but instead extracting every last ounce of pleasure from the time he had left.

Not that the future involved any fear for Raoul, not even any major inconvenience. He had left nothing to chance; the arrangements were in place to painlessly dissolve this marriage when it had served its purpose.

Admittedly, knowing that the moment was passing made him realise just how much pleasure it had held. And though he had refused to acknowledge how risky this strategy was, he admitted now that this could have turned out very badly indeed. Marrying Lara to make his grandfather’s last days happy could have been a major crash and burn.

But though living with a woman who threw herself at everything, be it a pasta dish, a walk on a beach or sex with uninhibited enthusiasm, might be at times exasperating, it was also exciting. She perfectly encapsulated living in the moment.

Thinking about a future minus that excitement deepened the furrow between his strongly delineated brows but a woman like Lara demanded more time than a man like him could offer.

Couldn’t, wouldn’t, won’t...?

His comment and his accusing attitude bewildered Lara. ‘Naomi said you didn’t want me to.’

The furrow between his dark brows deepened even more; she had obviously misunderstood. ‘I took her home.’

Of course you did, she thought, standing motionless as the sick, angry jealousy grabbed her in a chokehold. ‘How come she was at the clinic?’

‘Her husband is there having some treatment.’

The explanation immediately made Lara feel ashamed of her gut response; the woman had never been anything but kind to her and if Raoul had friendships with other women it was not her business. If it was more than friendship? It still wasn’t really her business.

‘You look tired.’

He shrugged and walked across to the bureau. She watched as he poured brandy into the bottom of a heavy tumbler and raised it to his lips. ‘To you, you old bastard.’

Her nostrils twitched as the aroma produced a wave of acid nausea in her stomach. ‘It might help to talk.’

Catching her worried gaze, he emptied the glass in one swallow. ‘I don’t want to talk.’ He dragged a hand through his dark hair. ‘I don’t want to think... I just want—’ He reached out towards her, his eyes burning with unvarnished need.

Then before she could react his hand fell. A spasm of self-loathing contorted his dark features as he slammed the glass down. He was using her and acting as if it were all right.

‘I’ll sleep in the study tonight.’

Lara was utterly confused by his mixed signals but also by the morass of conflicting emotions. She put it down to crazy hormonal changes and cried herself to sleep in the bedroom alone.