Читать книгу Modern Romance July 2016 Books 5-8 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 17

CHAPTER NINE

HANNAH FOUND LUCA about half a mile down the beach, away from the villa, with nothing but a few palm trees for company. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. Hannah had never seen such an abject pose; every powerful line of Luca’s body seemed to radiate despair.

She hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his moment of sorrowful solitude, but not wanting to leave him alone either. He looked too lonely.

‘I’m not going to bite your head off,’ Luca said, his voice low and so very weary. ‘Although you have good reason to think I would.’

She came closer, her dress trailing on the sand that was cool and silky under her bare feet.

‘I wasn’t thinking that,’ she said quietly, and came to sit beside him, drawing her knees up as his were. He didn’t lift his head. She thought about asking him yet again what pain and secrets he was hiding, but she didn’t think there was much point. Luca didn’t want to tell her and, truthfully, she didn’t blame him. She had pain and secrets of her own she didn’t want spilling out. Still, she felt she had to say something.

‘The petits fours weren’t actually that good,’ she ventured after a moment. ‘So you really didn’t miss much.’

Luca let out a soft huff of laughter, and somehow that sounded sad too.

‘I know what it’s like to grieve, Luca,’ Hannah said quietly.

‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’

‘I don’t know, and I won’t ask because I know you don’t want to tell me. But...’ she let out her breath slowly ‘... I know what it’s like to feel angry and cheated and in despair.’

‘Do you?’ Luca lifted his head to gaze at her speculatively; she could only just make out the strong lines and angles of his face in the moonlit darkness. ‘Who do you grieve, Hannah?’

It was such a personal question, and one whose answer she didn’t talk about much. Yet she was the one who had started this conversation, and if Luca wasn’t able to talk about his pain, perhaps she should talk about hers.

‘My father, for one,’ Hannah answered. ‘He died when I was fifteen.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Luca stared straight ahead, his arms braced against his knees. ‘How did it happen?’

‘A heart attack out of the blue. He went to work and dropped dead at his desk. It was a complete shock to everyone.’

‘Which must have made it even harder.’

‘Yes, in a way. My mother wasn’t prepared emotionally, obviously, or financially.’

Luca glanced at her. ‘Your father didn’t leave her provided for?’

‘No, not really. He’d always meant to take out a life insurance policy, but he never got around to it. He was only forty-two years old. And savings were slim... He wasn’t irresponsible,’ she hastened to add. ‘Just not planning for the disaster that happened.’ And she’d decided long ago not to be bitter about that. She’d simply chosen to make different choices.

‘So what did your mother do?’

‘Got a job. She’d been a housewife for sixteen years, since before I was born, and she’d been a part-time preschool teacher before that. It was tough to find work that earned more than a pittance.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I worked too, after school. We sold our house and rented a small flat. That helped with expenses.’ But it had been hard, so hard, to go from the simple, smiling suburban life she’d had as a child to working all hours and living in a small, shabby flat.

‘I’m sorry,’ Luca said again. ‘I never knew.’

‘I never told you.’ She paused, waiting for him to volunteer something of his own situation, but he didn’t. ‘What about you?’ she asked at last. ‘What happened to your parents?’

Luca was silent for a long moment. ‘My mother died when I was fourteen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

His cynical smile gleamed in the darkness. ‘We’re both so sorry, aren’t we? But it doesn’t change anything.’

‘No, but sometimes it can make you feel less alone.’

‘How do you know I feel alone?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Because I do, sometimes.’ Another breath. ‘Do you?’

Luca didn’t answer for a long moment. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, all the time.’ He let out a hollow laugh. ‘And no more so than when I was looking at Andrew Tyson and his damn kids.’ His voice broke on the words and he averted his head from her, hiding his face, shielding his emotion.

‘Oh, Luca.’ Hannah’s voice broke too, for her heart ached to see this proud, powerful man brought to such sadness.

‘Don’t.’ His voice was muffled, his head still turned away from her. ‘Don’t pity me, Hannah. I couldn’t bear it.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I’d rather someone attacked me than pitied me. It’s the worst kind of violence, cloaked as something kind or virtuous.’ He spoke scathingly, the words spat out, making her wonder.

‘Who pitied you, Luca?’ she asked quietly. ‘Because you seem the least likely person for anyone ever to feel sorry for.’

‘I wasn’t always.’

‘When you were a child? When you lost your mother?’

He nodded tersely. ‘Yes. Then.’

But she felt he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. ‘What happened to you after your mother’s death? Did you live with your father?’

‘No, he wasn’t around.’ Luca expelled a low breath. ‘I went into foster care, and managed to secure a scholarship to a boarding school in Rome. It saved me, lifted me up from the gutter, but not everyone liked that fact. I stayed on my own.’

It sounded like a terribly lonely childhood. Even though she’d lost her father, Hannah was grateful for the fifteen years of happy memories that he’d given her. ‘How did your mother die?’ she asked.

He let out a long, weary sigh and tilted his head towards the sky. ‘She killed herself.’

Startled, Hannah stared at him in horror. ‘Oh, but that’s terrible—’

‘Yes, but I could understand why she did it. Life had become unendurable.’

‘But you were only fourteen—’

‘I think,’ Luca said slowly, still staring at the starlit sky, ‘when you feel that trapped and desperate and sad, you stop thinking about anything else. You can’t reason your way out of it. You can only try to end the sadness.’

Tears stung Hannah’s eyes at the thought. ‘You have great compassion and understanding, to be able to think that.’

‘I’ve never been angry with her,’ Luca answered flatly. He lowered his head to gaze out at the sea, washed in darkness. ‘She was a victim.’

‘And were you a victim?’ Hannah asked. She felt as if she were feeling her way through the dark, groping with her words, trying to shape an understanding out of his reluctant half-answers.

‘No, I’ve never wanted to think of myself as victim. That ends only in defeat.’

‘I suppose I felt the same,’ Hannah offered cautiously. ‘My father’s death left my mother in a difficult situation, and I wanted to make sure I never ended up that way as an adult.’

He gave her a swift, searching glance. ‘Is that why you agreed with me that relationships aren’t worth it?’

‘I only said maybe,’ Hannah reminded him. ‘But yes, that has something to do with it.’ She thought of Jamie’s father and felt a lump form in her throat. She’d moved on from her grief years ago, but opening those old wounds still hurt, still made her wonder and regret. If she’d done something differently...if she’d handled their last argument better... ‘When you lose someone,’ she said, ‘you don’t feel like taking the chance again.’

‘But he was your father, not a boyfriend or husband.’

‘I lost one of those too,’ Hannah admitted. ‘A boyfriend, not a husband.’ They’d never got that far. They’d never had the chance. And she had to believe that they would have, if Ben hadn’t died. That he would have changed his mind, she would have had a second chance.

‘When?’

‘Almost six years ago.’

Luca turned to her, the moonlight washing half his face in lambent silver. ‘You bear your sorrows so well. You don’t look like someone haunted by grief.’

‘I’m not,’ Hannah answered staunchly. ‘I choose not to be.’ Even if it was hard, a choice she had to make every day not to wallow in grief and regret.

‘That’s a strong choice to make.’

‘It hasn’t always been easy,’ Hannah allowed. ‘And I can’t say I haven’t had my moments of self-pity or evenings alone with a tub of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream,’ she added. ‘But I try not to wallow.’

His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing? Wallowing?’

Horrified, Hannah clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Luca, no—’

‘No, it is.’ He cut her off. ‘And I despise myself for it. I thought I could come here and stare Andrew Tyson in the face. I thought I could smile and shake the man’s hand and feel nothing, because I’d schooled myself to feel nothing for so long. But I can’t. I can’t.’ His voice broke on a ragged gasp and he dropped his head in his hands. ‘I don’t want to feel this,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want to be enslaved by something that happened so long ago. I wanted this to be a clean slate, a second chance—’ He drew in a ragged breath, his head in his hands, and Hannah did the only thing she could, the only thing she felt she could do in that moment. She hugged him.

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek into his back, trying to imbue him with her comfort. ‘Oh, Luca,’ she whispered. ‘Luca.’

He went rigid underneath her touch but she hung on anyway. Luca could be as strong and stoic as he liked, but he still needed comfort, and in that moment she was determined to give it to him.

He reached up to grip her wrists that were locked across his chest as if he’d force her away from him, but he didn’t.

‘Why are you so kind?’ he demanded in a raw mutter.

‘Why are you so afraid of kindness?’ Hannah returned softly.

He turned, his hands still on her wrists, and for a second she thought he would reject her offer of comfort and push her away, but then his features twisted and with a muttered curse he reached for her instead.

Their mouths met and clashed and the fierce desire to comfort him turned into something far more primal and urgent. His hands were everywhere, clenching in her hair, stroking her back, cupping her breasts, and all the while his mouth didn’t leave hers.

They fell back on the sand in a tangle of limbs, and when Luca’s thumb brushed over the taut peak of her nipple Hannah arched into his hand, craving an even deeper caress.

She tore at his shirt, studs popping, desperate to feel his bare, glorious skin. She let out a gasp of pleasure and satisfaction when she finally parted the shirt and ran her palms along his hair-roughened chest, revelling in the feel of sculpted muscle and hot skin.

Luca’s breath came out in a hiss and then he was pulling at her dress, the gauzy folds tearing under his urgent touch, and Hannah didn’t even care.

‘Luca,’ she gasped, and it was both a demand and a plea. She needed to feel his hands on her body. She felt as if she’d explode if she didn’t. He pulled the tattered dress down to her waist, leaving her completely bare on top as she hadn’t worn a bra with the halter-style dress.

Then he bent his head to her breasts, his tongue now touching where his hands had been, and Hannah clutched his head to her, nearly sobbing in pleasure at the feel of him tasting her.

But even that wasn’t enough. She needed more from him, of him, and when his hand slipped under her bunched dress, his fingers deftly finding and stroking her centre, she thought she almost had it. The pleasure was so acute it was akin to pain, a sharp ache that left her gasping. She skimmed the length of his erection, sucking her breath in at the way his body throbbed in insistent response to her touch. She pulled at his trousers, fumbling with the ties of his cummerbund, and with a muttered oath Luca ripped it away from him and tossed it on the sand. Hannah let out a gurgle of laughter that he swallowed with his mouth as he kissed her again and she gave herself to him, offering everything as her hands clutched at his shoulders and her hips rocked against his.

‘Hannah,’ Luca muttered against her mouth. ‘Hannah, I need...’

‘Yes,’ she answered almost frantically. ‘Yes, please, Luca, now.’

She parted her legs as he fumbled with the zip on his trousers. She didn’t have a second to consider if this was a good idea, if she’d regret this afterwards. She couldn’t think past the haze of overwhelming need that consumed her.

Then Luca was inside her, an invasion so sudden, so sweet, so much, that Hannah felt tears sting her eyes. It had been so long since she’d given her body to a man. So long since she’d felt completed, conquered. She wrapped her legs around him, enfolding herself around him as she accepted him into her body.

He stilled inside her as they both adjusted to the intense sensation. Luca’s eyes were closed, his arms braced by her shoulders. Then Hannah flexed around him and with a groan of surrender he started to move.

It had been a while, and it took her a few exquisite thrusts before she managed to find the rhythm and match it, and then with each thrust she felt her body respond, opening up like a flower, everything in her spiralling upward, straining towards that glittering summit that was just out of her reach—

Until she found it, her body convulsing around Luca’s as she cried out his name and the climax rushed over them both, their bodies shuddering in tandem, tears slipping down her face as she gave herself to the tidal wave of pleasure.

In the aftermath Hannah lay there, Luca’s body on top of hers, the thud of his heart matching her own. She felt dazed and dizzy and yet utterly sated. She couldn’t regret what had happened, not even for a second.

Then Luca rolled off her with a curse, lying on the sand on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Okay, maybe she could.

Hannah felt a whole bunch of things at once: the cold sand underneath her, the stickiness on her thighs, the grit in her hair, the torn dress about her waist. The pleasure that had overwhelmed her only moments before now felt like mere vapour, a ghost of a memory.

She pulled her torn dress down over herself, wincing at the shredded gauze. To think Luca had spent nine thousand pounds on this one gown. Not that she would have had a chance to wear it again, even if it hadn’t been ruined.

Luca lifted his arm from his face and turned his head to rake her with one quick glance. Even in the moonlit darkness Hannah could see how indifferent he looked, and inwardly she quelled.

This had been a mistake. A wonderful, terrible mistake, and one she would most certainly regret no matter the pleasure she’d experienced. How could she work with Luca from now on? What if he fired her? But even worse than the fears for her job was the piercing loneliness of the thought that he might shut her out of his life. He already was, and she’d barely been in it to begin with.

She took a deep, calming breath and told herself not to jump to conclusions.

‘Your dress,’ Luca stated flatly.

Hannah glanced down at it. ‘I’m afraid it’s past repair.’

‘I’m thinking of getting back to the room,’ he clarified impatiently. ‘I don’t care about the dress.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ She bit her lip, trying not to feel hurt. This was a far cry from pillow talk, but then they hadn’t even had a bed. They’d had a few moments of frenzied, mindless passion that Luca undoubtedly regretted, just as she was starting to.

Luca sat up, readjusting his trousers and then searching for the studs on his shirt. He found enough to keep the shirt mostly fastened, and he stuffed his tie and cummerbund in his pocket. Then he shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

‘There. You’re mostly decent. Hopefully we can sneak into the room without anyone seeing us.’

‘And if they do?’ Hannah asked, thankful her voice didn’t wobble. ‘Wouldn’t they just think we’d done exactly what they’d expect us to do, and made love under the stars?’

Luca’s mouth compressed and he stood up, brushing the sand from his legs before he reached a hand down to her. She took it only because she knew she’d struggle getting up on her own. She was torn between an irrational anger—how had she expected Luca to act?—and a deep and disturbing hurt. She shouldn’t care this much. She hadn’t had feelings for Luca, not really.

Except somehow, in the last twenty-four hours, she had begun to develop them. She’d seen intriguing glimpses into a man whom she’d already respected and admired—glimpses of strength and emotion. She’d seen him determined and arrogant but also humble, concerned for her even while he was in the throes of his own emotional agony. Luca Moretti had depths she’d discovered this weekend that he hadn’t even hinted at before.

And he was hiding them all from her now. He dropped her hand the moment she was upright and started walking back towards the villa, its lights glimmering in the distance. Hannah followed him, clutching his jacket around her shoulders, wincing at the sand she could feel in her hair and clothes.

They skirted around the terrace that was now empty to the other side of the house, where the bedrooms’ French windows overlooked the beach.

‘You’d better pick the right room,’ Hannah muttered darkly. Hurt and anger were giving way to a weary resignation as she scrambled to think of a way to navigate this awful aftermath.

Luca didn’t even reply, just stalked ahead and then flung open a pair of windows and ushered her into their bedroom. Hannah stepped inside, her glance taking in the turned-down bed, the chocolate hearts on the pillows. Had it been only twenty-four hours ago that she’d been in this same room, this same position, except now everything felt drastically different?

‘Why don’t you get cleaned up?’ Luca said, nodding towards the bathroom without looking at her. ‘And then we’ll talk.’