Читать книгу The Revenge Collection 2018 - Кейт Хьюит, Эль Кеннеди - Страница 29
ОглавлениеELENA WAS MIGHTILY relieved to go straight to her father’s voicemail.
‘Hi, Papà, it’s me. I’m in New York, finally taking that holiday you keep nagging me about.’ She injected a false laugh, meeting Gabriele’s eye.
He was watching her from the dining room table, his expression inscrutable.
‘You’ll never believe who I bumped into last night—Alfredo Mantegna’s son.’ She cleared her throat before ploughing on. ‘I’ve decided to stay in New York for the week and do some sightseeing. Christie will be running things for me. Hope you’re well. Ciao.’
Done, she disconnected the call, then, for good measure, turned the phone off and stuffed it in her favourite of the designer handbags Liana had selected for her, then faced him with her chin up.
‘Well? Was that convincing enough?’
‘On a scale of one to ten I’d give it a five,’ he drawled, rising to his feet. ‘Let’s see how you perform this evening—see if we can get it to an eight.’
Tonight they were going to dine at another paparazzi-encamped restaurant, a thought that thrilled her as much as swimming in a shark-infested pool. Since their return from shopping, she’d checked the Internet a dozen times to see if her name was out there but so far, nothing.
Throwing him a brittle smile, which more than spoke the caustic response she wanted to give, Elena slung her handbag over her shoulder and headed to the elevator.
Inside, she surreptitiously checked her appearance.
She was pleased to see the magic Adrian had done to her face was mostly still intact. Scared of damaging his work, all she’d done for their evening out was apply some more of the lipstick she had taken the lid off a dozen times to smell—who knew cosmetics smelt so good?—and spritzed some perfume onto her neck and wrists. She’d changed out of the jeans into a pair of bright red straight-legged trousers and a pair of silver sandals with a low pointy heel, but had opted to keep on the shimmering top she loved so much.
Gabriele’s only remark had been to say, ‘That is a definite improvement on last night.’
Except the look in his eyes had said something else.
For the first time she wished she had some experience with men, something that would allow her to translate Gabriele’s unspoken expressions. All she had was gut instinct but that was becoming unreliable. All she felt when he looked at her was a feeling she couldn’t quite interpret but which she was terrified meant nothing but trouble.
Her response had been a glare and a, ‘I’m delighted I meet your approval.’
She didn’t believe for a second that he was attracted to her.
All Gabriele wanted was what she could give him. He wanted her body. Not her core. Not her soul. He wanted Ignazio’s daughter. If she’d had sisters, any of them would have served his purpose equally well.
Now, catching his eye in the mirror, she quickly looked away, but not before she caught the expression she’d seen earlier, when she’d been presented to him like a fully made-over doll.
That strange feeling stirred in her stomach again.
He doesn’t want you.
And neither did she want him. She could never want someone so cruel.
When they reached the ground floor, he turned to her. ‘Ready?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Smiling broadly, he took her hand and led her out into the Manhattan night for the second time.
Her pulse kicked into life.
This was the first time he’d properly touched her skin other than that fleeting kiss earlier.
His hand was enormous, swallowing hers like a giant paw.
His driver was ready for them.
Thankful to be able to shake her hand out of Gabriele’s so she could get into the open back door, she sat down and pressed her hands between her thighs, wiping away the moisture that had sprung on her palms.
They rode in silence, the darkened glass dividing them from his driver meaning they didn’t have to fake conversation or adoration.
Traffic was lighter than the night before but it still took them twenty minutes to arrive at the restaurant Gabriele had chosen for them.
The second the driver opened her door, Elena knew her identity had been discovered.
Lights flashed in her face, blinding her with their brilliance.
Gabriele took charge, getting out first and marching through the waiting paparazzi, to take her hand. Placing a protective arm around her waist, he led her inside.
Totally unprepared for a siege, she shrank into him, horrified at such behaviour and the shouts being called out as the horde yelled questions about their relationship.
They were led straight to their table. When they were sitting down and facing each other, she was astonished to see a look of satisfaction on Gabriele’s face.
‘You enjoyed that?’ she asked.
His eyes gleamed but there was a fury contained within them.
‘I’ve dealt with much worse. And their presence here—they were waiting for us, in case you hadn’t realised—guarantees that your father will have his morning coffee seeing pictures of you held in my arms.’
It was at that precise moment she understood Gabriele genuinely believed her father had set Alfredo up.
The hate he had for her family was built, at least in his own mind, on solid foundations.
He’d taken the rap to protect Alfredo but could not allow himself to believe in his father’s guilt. He was in denial. Rather than accept the truth he’d pointed the finger at her father.
Which meant that Gabriele himself was innocent of the crimes he’d spent two years in prison for.
Was it possible he was right about Alfredo’s innocence too...?
No, she couldn’t believe that. Because that would mean he was right about her own father and she just could not believe her father would commit fraud and set his oldest friend up to take the fall.
She wasn’t naïve enough to think her father had never cut corners in his life but what Gabriele was accusing him of?
No. It just couldn’t be.
‘Elena?’
His voice broke her out of her trance.
He leaned forward and murmured, ‘Adoration, tesoro, adoration.’
Taking a deep breath to clear the unwarranted thoughts, she rested her chin on her hand and gazed at him.
And, as she stared into those soulful dark eyes, she couldn’t help but think that should he be anyone other than he was—a vengeful blackmailer—looking at him with adoration would be no hardship at all.
* * *
Elena had been locked in the bathroom for so long Gabriele wondered if she’d drowned in the shower.
He had to give it to her; she’d performed admirably that night.
All evening she’d kept her eyes on his, fluttering her lashes, laughing and smiling. She’d even managed not to flinch too overtly whenever he’d taken her hand. No other diner in the restaurant would be in any doubt that they were a couple very much enjoying each other’s company.
When Elena finally came out of the bathroom he wasn’t surprised to find her wearing her oversized pyjamas rather than the sexy sleepwear Liana had selected for her and which she’d put away in her dressing room earlier with her other purchases.
‘Do you have a preference to which side you like to sleep?’ he asked from his vantage point in the middle of the bed.
She shook her head, shuffling with obvious trepidation to him.
‘I’ll take the right side, then.’ He moved over.
Gingerly, she lifted the sheets and climbed in. As she did so he caught a whiff of minty toothpaste and a delicate floral scent.
There was an immediate thickening of his blood. And a thickening of another part of his anatomy.
She turned her back to him and burrowed under the sheets so only the top of her white-blonde hair showed.
Gabriele switched the bedside light off, plunging the room into darkness.
He gazed up at the ceiling, a hand resting above his head, and tried to empty his mind of clutter and not pay too much attention to the fact that Elena lay beside him.
Soon the stiffness in his loins would subside.
These were natural reactions for a man to have.
Sharing a bed with a pretty woman, even one clad in the most disgusting nightclothes he’d ever had the misfortune to see, would be enough to make any man hard, especially when that man had been celibate for the best part of four years.
After Sophia had ended their engagement, he’d smarted for a while but had been too caught up in the legal battle to allow himself to dwell on it for any length of time. Prison itself had been about getting through each day. Even with his work detail he’d had plenty of time to think and all that thinking had been spent on one thing—revenge. Sophia had hardly crossed his mind.
Since his release, the part of his brain not plotting his revenge had been spent rebuilding his and Mantegna Cars’ reputation. This rebuilding would culminate in the car being launched to honour his father’s memory. There simply hadn’t been the space for a woman, not in any capacity.
So it was no wonder that lying in the dark next to Elena had made his libido jump-start itself.
* * *
They were on the front page of every major paper in the US and Europe.
The Burying of the Hatchet? screamed the most common variety of headline.
They were also the headliners of all the major news outlets on the Web and the top trending story on social media. The picture most commonly used in them had Gabriele’s arm wrapped protectively around her and Elena’s head resting against his chest.
While she’d been sleeping, her phone, put on silent for the night, had gone berserk. She awoke to eleven missed calls from her father and brothers. All their texts and emails were variants of ‘call me now’.
There were also dozens of messages and missed calls from journalists and bloggers wanting comments on her relationship with Gabriele.
She couldn’t bring herself to listen to the voicemails.
Turning her phone off, she climbed out of the empty bed and headed to the bathroom, splashing some water on her face and brushing her teeth.
As with the day before, Gabriele was already showered and dressed. She found him in the dining room sipping a cup of coffee. He was casually dressed again, wearing black chinos and a grey T-shirt under an unbuttoned checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
An empty plate had been pushed to one side, half a dozen newspapers strewn before him.
‘Good morning, tesoro.’ He rose to his feet, a smile playing on his lips, one she was coming to recognise as the smile of satisfaction he gave when he was pleased with a plan coming to fruition.
To her shock, he stepped to her, pulled her into his arms and briefly covered her mouth with his own.
She reared her head back but couldn’t break free from his hold. ‘What are...?’
‘We have company,’ he interrupted in a low voice, dragging his lips across her cheek and dipping into her neck, his hand rubbing across her back.
‘Come, have some breakfast,’ he said in a normal tone, pulling the seat out from beside his own and virtually pressing her into it.
It was then that she saw the small man standing at the door separating the dining room from the kitchen.
‘Michael, this is Elena,’ Gabriele said by way of introduction, smiling affectionately at her as he took her stiff hand in his.
Michael bustled into the room, beaming widely. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ricci.’ He spoke with a strong New York drawl. ‘What can I get you for breakfast?’
‘Erm...’
‘I can recommend his poached eggs.’ Gabriele smoothed a strand of hair away from her cheek.
As soon as Michael had disappeared back into the kitchen, Elena snatched her hand from Gabriele’s hold.
‘There was no need for that,’ she hissed.
‘There was every need,’ he answered, taking her hand back. ‘You are like a cat on hot coals around me. We’re going to the city clerk’s office later to arrange our wedding licence. Tomorrow we marry. You need to be comfortable with me holding you and touching you.’
‘I did all that last night,’ she said indignantly, though making an effort to keep her voice down.
‘No, you made a start last night,’ he corrected. ‘You were as stiff as a board under my touch but anyone would excuse that because of the paparazzi’s presence. When we see the clerk, you have to keep in mind they deal with couples in love all the time. They will know a fake when they see it.’
‘I am trying.’
‘And I’m going to help you.’
‘How?’
‘By kissing you. Properly.’
Any objection she would have made was swept away when he placed his giant palms to her cheeks and brought his mouth to hers.
The couple of times he’d kissed her before had been the briefest of touches, a flash of warmth and then done, leaving nothing but the faintest impression on her lips and a trace of his masculine body heat.
This time...
His lips caressed hers, moving softly. His long fingers traced her cheeks then spread out to thread into her hair and massage into her scalp.
Gently but authoritatively his tongue slid out to probe and caress her lips, which were still clamped tightly together.
But she was fighting a losing battle.
As hard as she tried to keep a hold of herself, to stop this subtle erotic assault from seeping into her, all the tiny atoms inside her were awakening, sensation spreading through her.
What was happening to her?
And then her lips made the tiniest of partings that was enough for him to sweep his tongue into her mouth.
Deep, dark heat suffused her, his taste seeping into her. Coffee, the faint trace of mint and a taste she didn’t recognise but she knew was his and his alone.
With shock, she suddenly realised her hand had moved of its own accord to rest on his shoulder, her fingers gripping it tightly.
And she was kissing him back. Her tongue had slipped into his mouth and was mimicking the explorations he was making in her own.
She flexed her fingers and let go, then reared her head back enough to break the kiss.
‘That’s enough,’ she muttered in a voice that sounded distant. The only sound she could make out was the ringing in her ears.
Gabriele didn’t say anything, his hold on her head still firm as he gazed intently into her eyes, the expression on his face making her stomach contract in on itself and her thundering heart crash painfully against her ribs.
Thank God Michael chose that moment to come back into the room with a pot of coffee, clearing his throat loudly to announce his presence.
Gabriele moved his hands from her hair and straightened.
‘Your breakfast will be with you in five minutes,’ Michael said, pouring her a cup and then leaving as quickly as he’d come.
Shaken, her body still singing, heat still swirling, she added a spoonful of sugar with a trembling hand.
Gabriele was her sworn enemy. She had no right to take such pleasure from his kiss.
She had no right to want more.
‘That’s much better,’ he said with approval.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’ She couldn’t look at him.
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.’
‘Don’t pretend that I did.’ She hadn’t enjoyed it. What she had felt—what she still felt—was something she hadn’t known she could feel.
His voice dropped and he spoke into her ear, blowing more of that gorgeous heat over her sensitised skin. ‘You taste like nectar. Soon, I will taste all of you.’
She wrapped her hands around her cup, breathing deeply, trying in vain to take control of herself.
His gaze stayed locked on her, penetrating her skin.
This man was her sworn enemy.
‘What’s the matter, tesoro? Does your desire for me scare you?’
‘There is no desire. All I feel for you is loathing. All I want is for you to release me from this nightmare.’
Instead of being angry, he laughed. ‘There is no shame in attraction. It is natural.’
Not for her it wasn’t.
But she had no intention of sharing that with him. The contract she’d signed stipulated she gave him her body, not her thoughts. The only intimacies they would share would be in the bedroom and they would be as brief as humanly possible.
Gabriele got to his feet. ‘I have some calls to make. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?’
Thrown at his abrupt change of conversation, she looked at him.
And immediately wished she hadn’t.
Every time she looked at him her chest tightened some more.
Tomorrow she would marry this man.
She would belong to him.
And the only way to cut the bonds that would bind them was to give him the one thing she’d never given to anyone. Her body.
But the one thing she now knew above all else was that she would never allow him to kiss her again. Not as he’d just done.
It made her feel too much.
* * *
Somehow Elena made it through their meeting with the official at the city clerk’s office without incident. She’d held Gabriele’s hand and smiled adoringly every time their eyes met. She’d even managed a simper.
The only time she’d come close to crumbling that day was when Gabriele had taken her to a boutique, leaving her with the instructions, ‘You need to choose a dress to marry in. White. Nothing subversive.’
She’d thumbed through the many and varied beautiful dresses with a deep ache inside her.
She might never have expected to marry, but this...
This was an abomination. A mockery of everything marriage was supposed to stand for. She was marrying a man she despised and who loathed her with equal intensity.
You have to do it. If you don’t, he’ll destroy you all.
It was this thought that had sustained her through her chat with her father that evening, before she and Gabriele had sat down for a quiet meal prepared for them by the housekeepers.
Elena refused to give credence to Gabriele’s belief that her father had framed Alfredo, yet it echoed in her head with every word exchanged between them. But she would not ask for her father’s side. He had nothing to answer for.
It hurt so much to hear the strain in her father’s voice, knowing his fears of his only daughter seeing a convicted criminal. He’d casually asked if she’d any plans to see ‘Mantegna’ again. She’d crossed her fingers and said in as cheerful a voice as she could muster, ‘Oh, yes, Papà, he’s such a lovely man.’
Now she lay beside that ‘lovely man’ feigning sleep.
This time tomorrow they would be married.
This time tomorrow she would no longer be a virgin.
Gabriele turned in his sleep. A warm leg brushed against her.
She stopped breathing.
Sensation spread throughout her, a low ache pulsing deep in her pelvis.
She gritted her teeth and exhaled through her mouth.
How could she be so aware of him? Why could her body not hate him with the same passion as her brain?
If she could only switch her body off she would be able to ignore the fact that sleeping beside her was the most physically attractive man she’d ever met.
She could pretend the heat suffusing her at his nearness meant nothing.
* * *
‘Elena, are you ready?’ Gabriele banged on the bedroom door, where she’d been holed up for the best part of an hour, telling him she wanted to be alone as she prepared.
The door swung open.
All she had on was a mauve robe. A towel was wrapped around her hair.
‘I can’t do it,’ she said, panic in her voice.
‘Do what?’ He looked at his watch. His driver would be here any minute to take them to the Manhattan Marriage Bureau. Everything was set. All they had to do was turn up. If she was about to renege on their contract...
‘My make-up,’ she screeched. ‘I can’t remember what Adrian told me to do.’
Not only was there panic in her voice but in her eyes too.
She was so highly strung at that moment she could snap like a too taut piece of elastic.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said.
‘Where are you going?’
‘One minute.’ He went to his drinks cabinet and poured two hefty measures of brandy, then carried the glasses back to the bedroom and pressed one in her hand.
‘Drink it,’ he commanded. ‘It will calm your...’
She’d downed it before he could finish his sentence.
‘Can I have another?’
‘Sure.’
He went off and poured them both another. She drank it as quickly as the first and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘Better?’
She nodded.
‘Elena...’ Her robe had opened a touch, enough for him to catch a glimpse of a small breast.
He blinked and refocused his attention on her face.
‘Elena, we have plenty of time,’ he lied. ‘Just do your best. Everyone will be too busy looking at your dress to pay attention to your face.’
He’d waited in a nearby coffee shop while she’d bought it. He’d spent the time trying not to think of their breakfast kiss, the remnants of which had still lingered in his bloodstream. It still lingered.
Before his engagement to Sophia he’d had a steady stream of regular girlfriends. He would never have considered himself a playboy but he’d had a lot of fun. Then he’d turned thirty and decided it was time to settle down. It was what people did when they still had trust in human decency.
Now, there was no one alive he trusted and he never would again.
His father had trusted Ignazio. He’d never dreamed his oldest, closest friend would betray him in such a manner.
Gabriele had trusted Ignazio too. Why on earth would he not? But where had this trust got him? A prison sentence, a dead father and a severely incapacitated mother.
He’d trusted Sophia. She hadn’t cared to believe in him, her only concern saving her reputation.
That was what trusting someone who wasn’t your own blood got you. Pain.
When his time with Elena came to an end, he was sure he would date again—he wasn’t dead—but sharing a life with anyone? Not a chance in hell.
At the time, Sophia had, on paper, seemed the perfect wifely candidate. They’d agreed on all the major things like religion and politics. It was the perfect meeting of minds. Plus she was from an old wealthy family so there was no question of her being a gold-digger. And she was beautiful. Properly beautiful. The kind of beauty that men and women alike would turn their heads to look at twice.
In the year he’d been with her, not one single kiss had elicited the reaction kissing Elena had evoked. He couldn’t remember a single kiss that had ever provoked such a strong surge of heat not just through his loins but through his blood, his bones, his very flesh.
He’d sat in that coffee shop, talking quietly on the phone to the man who could clear his name, trying to think of the words to induce him into switching sides, but his concentration had hung by a thread. His blood had thrummed too deeply from his kiss with Elena to think clearly.
The desire it had provoked in him had been inexplicable. It still was. As he looked at her now, standing before him with nothing but a robe covering her, the urge to take her into his arms and carry her to the bed was strong.
But, as he told himself grimly, desire meant nothing. It didn’t change anything.
But it would certainly make marriage to her more pleasurable.
She nodded, her lips pursed, determination etched on her face. ‘I can do this.’
‘Good. I’ll leave you to get on.’
Closing the door behind him, he wondered what kind of woman made it to the age of twenty-five without knowing how to apply make-up. He’d always assumed it was something inbuilt in them, like their ability to multitask without breaking a sweat.
How sheltered had her life been?
He knew Ignazio had kept her in the home for much of her childhood. His own father had often commented on it, saying how sad it was that his friend was hiding his only daughter away while his sons roamed free. No wonder she had aspired to be as much like her brothers as she could.
She was a strong, confident woman now, he assured himself. Whatever kind of childhood she’d had, it didn’t change who she had become.
Forty minutes later she finally appeared.
The dress she’d chosen to marry him in was white, as he’d stipulated, but that was the only truly traditional aspect. Sleeveless, it had a high lace neckline and fell like a fan above her knees. On her feet were simple white shoes with the tiniest of heels.
Her newly feathered fringe had been swept to one side, the rest of it gathered in her newly favoured knot at the back of her neck. She’d kept her make-up simple but effective.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘It’s perfect.’ He nodded his approval. ‘You’ve chosen well.’
‘I couldn’t bring myself to buy a floor-length traditional dress. It would have made this whole farce an even bigger mockery.’
‘Quite,’ he said sardonically, not liking the cramp of guilt that seized his gut.
Had Elena wanted a traditional marriage?
It wasn’t something he’d cared to consider.
And now was not the moment to consider it. Whatever she’d hoped for was none of his concern.
Besides, if a large, cherub-filled church wedding rather than what was regarded as an intimate elopement was something she wanted, she could always do it with someone else once they were divorced.
Remembering the delivery that had come earlier, he strode to the table and removed the delicately tied white roses from the box.
‘What are they for?’ she asked with a puzzled frown, taking them from him and sniffing them.
‘They’re your bridal bouquet to hold as we exchange our vows.’ As he spoke, he pinned a single white rose to the lapel of the blazer of his navy pinstriped suit. ‘You didn’t think your loving fiancé would forget such an important detail, did you?’
She smiled with poison-laced sweetness. ‘As we’re not bothering with an engagement ring, guests or a reception, I’m surprised you bothered.’
‘But, my love, there will be photographers there to witness our joy when we leave the civic hall.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t learn we spent the night before our wedding together, and that you saw me before we exchanged our vows. It would be dreadful if they were to say our wedding is doomed by bad luck before it’s even started.’
‘Then we must put on a worthy display of our love so those doubts never rear up. Don’t you think?’
She tilted her head coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘But of course, my mouldy little acorn. Our love will shine through.’
‘A mouldy little acorn?’ God, she amused him. He had no idea why but she did.
And he had no idea why he experienced a pang to wonder what it would be like between them if they had met under entirely different circumstances...
