Читать книгу Marriage Made of Secrets - Майя Блейк, Maya Blake - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

A SHARD OF ice splintered her post-orgasmic haze.

‘You want me. I know you do,’ she blurted, slightly dazed by the thought that he would deny what he felt. The evidence was unmistakable, even through the layers of their clothes.

He stepped away from her, but not far enough, as if he wanted to be close when she collapsed. And certainly her legs were unsteady enough to make that a distinct possibility.

‘This wasn’t about me.’

She looked into his eyes. Slowly his meaning sank in, obliterating her desperate, humiliating desire. ‘You bastard.’

He took another step back. Suddenly the scent of their lovemaking—if she could call it that—nauseated her. Because it was the smell of her weakness.

‘You wanted to humiliate me,’ she said.

‘I merely wanted to prove a point. Passion is an emotion, cara, one I relish in the right circumstances. But I choose not to let it rule my life.’

She lowered her eyes, chagrin eating like acid through her at how easily she’d fallen for his ploy. ‘You mean I let it rule mine?’ She wanted to slink away in shame, but she was damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.

‘I’ve just demonstrated that this is so.’

‘Wow, so that display was all for me? Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself.’

He stepped closer and slowly passed a finger over her swollen lip. ‘Sì, I am. And it’s good to know I can still reduce you to putty.’ His tone reeked smugness.

She didn’t rise to the bait. They both knew he’d won this round. She straightened her clothes. ‘Sure, you can dominate me with the sheer force of your sexual prowess. The orgasm you gave me just now? Out of this world. I’m a red-blooded female after all. But you’ve also proved that you’re so cold-hearted you can control your life to the point where nothing touches you unless you want it to. So pardon me if I don’t wholeheartedly buy your reasons for being here.’

He let go of her as if she’d suddenly developed a contagious disease. For a moment he looked almost...disarmed. But she didn’t feel victory, just an emptiness that grew larger with each passing second.

‘You’re trying to rile me.’ The face of the man who regarded her wasn’t the Cesare who’d kissed her senseless moments ago, whose heart she’d felt beating unsteadily against her own. This was Cesare back in control, the master in complete command of his world.

‘I’m speaking the truth. Deal with it.’

‘It seriously terrifies me how prone to recklessness you can be.’ With cool poise, he reached down and picked up her laptop. ‘If you want to maintain that truce, I think we need to establish some ground rules. Come.’

Without waiting for her agreement, he strode off in the direction of his study.

By the time she found enough strength to straighten away from the wall and follow, he’d disappeared.

She found him seated behind his massive antique desk, his fingers steepled against his mouth. If he’d been any other man, she would’ve suspected he was hiding behind the desk to avoid her. But Cesare was no ordinary man.

He’d just proven catastrophically and conclusively that he could turn her brainless with desire, ride through the storm of passion with her, and emerge unscathed.

‘If you’re going to dissect what just happened—’

‘What happened just now doesn’t need dissection,’ he said, cutting across her. ‘But I do want to discuss Annabelle and the impact our being together will have on her.’

She frowned. ‘Why should it impact on her?’

He ignored her question. ‘How did she take Rita leaving? I know they were close.’ His gaze bored into her with the force of a laser drill.

‘She was distressed, of course, but—’

‘You also said she’s a bit more sensitive than she used to be.’

Her hackles rose. ‘And you think this is in some way my fault?’

He exhaled. ‘I’m not laying blame, Ava. I’m just trying to find the best way to settle her without causing her any more upset.’

‘She’s back home where she belongs, and I’ll be with her every day. A loving family is what she needs.’

Tawny eyes hardened a touch. ‘You’ll be working some of the time.’ His gaze strayed to her laptop, which now sat on his desk. ‘You cut back on your work when we got married. Why the sudden return to full-time work?’

‘Because I found out that playing the role of neglected wife isn’t all that challenging—I could do it with my eyes closed, in fact. I needed something more.’

‘Is that supposed to be some sort of statement?’ he asked.

‘You’re the genius. Work it out.’

‘You’re my wife, Ava, and therefore my responsibility—’

‘Isn’t that a mere technicality?’ She ignored his icy glare. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Cesare. We’ve been drifting apart almost from the moment Annabelle was born. Hell, we’ve barely lived together for the last year. Calling me your wife when it suits you or as a means of salving your conscience—what there is of it—is disingenuous. Your career has always been your first priority so don’t you dare question my dedication to mine. You can continue to provide for your daughter, but I can more than take care of myself financially.’

‘Nice speech. Although I see you didn’t hesitate to make use of my jet when you needed it. You can’t have it both ways either, cara. While we live under the same roof you’re my responsibility and we both do what’s best for Annabelle. We share all meal times with our daughter. And at all times we present a united front.’

‘To show her Mummy and Papà don’t hate each other?’ she threw at him.

His mocking smile displayed perfectly formed white teeth. ‘Her Mummy and Papà don’t hate each other. I think I proved that conclusively just now.’

A residual post-orgasmic shiver raked her insides at the reminder. ‘Sexual desire without a solid foundation fizzles out eventually, Cesare.’

One dark eyebrow tilted upward. ‘Is this another enlightened nugget you were fed in your commune or did you conduct a personal study?’

‘I don’t need a study to tell me that it won’t be long before Annabelle starts asking probing questions. She’s beginning to notice that her kindergarten friends have mummies and daddies who live together. Last month, before we left for Bali, she asked me why you don’t live with us. Those are the easy questions, so prepare yourself for the tough questions because they’re just around the corner.’

With the swiftness of a flash flood, the smile disappeared and a veil descended over his bronze features. Before her eyes, he withdrew behind a veneer of cool indifference. ‘Many couples live apart. When the time is right, we will explain things to her.’

‘I can’t wait because I’d quite like some answers myself. For instance, why are you wearing your wedding ring again? You weren’t last month.’

He glanced at the simple gold band on his finger, a peculiar look crossing his features. It dissipated so quickly she almost missed it. But its haunting quality lodged a stone in her chest.

Before she could question it, his desk phone rang. His gaze flicked over her as he reached for it. ‘I’ve arranged for dinner to be served earlier tonight, at six-thirty, for Annabelle’s sake. We’ll decide then on the best routine for all of us going forward.’

For an insane second, she wanted to rip the phone out of his hands, chuck it through the window and demand he answer her questions. But he’d already swung his leather seat towards the window, shutting her out as if she’d ceased to exist for him.

She grabbed her laptop and marched from the room before the temptation to smash it over his head overcame her.

A headache niggled at her temples. Although tempted to blame it on the effects of travelling through several time zones, she knew Cesare was the reason for it.

From the start, he’d imprinted himself so indelibly on her psyche that it had seemed as if Fate herself had willed it so. Even now, she only had to see him to feel a part of her unravelling, for her insides to weaken.

She hated herself for those weak moments almost as much as she hated herself for what she’d let happen in the hallway. It’d only taken a handful of minutes for him to reduce her from a sane, rational woman to a heap of shuddering wantonness. And for him to gloat about it.

She entered the salone, walked past the sumptuous green and white overstuffed chairs and whitewashed tables and chose her favourite seat—an elegantly carved chaise longue facing the breathtaking view of the lake.

After switching on her laptop, she resolutely fished out her iPod and stuck the earphones on in the hope that the music would drown out the sinking realisation that she only had to think about Cesare for him to take a hold of her mind and, it seemed, her body.

Clicking on the application she needed, she read over the list of locations she needed to visit and typed up a suitable schedule and the cameras she would require.

Reynaldo Marinello and Tina Sanchez were the Posh and Becks of Italy. The renowned footballer’s engagement to his pop-star girlfriend six months ago had sparked a media frenzy, which Ava normally tried to avoid.

Witnessing the post-earthquake devastation in Bali, however, had sparked a need to raise awareness and money for disaster-stricken areas through her photography—which meant she couldn’t afford to turn down lucrative assignments like these.

The Marinello pre-wedding catalogue would entail photographing various members of the prestigious Marinello family around the Lake Como area, with special emphasis on the bride and groom. Mind-numbing work, but if it enabled her to stay close to Annabelle she didn’t mind one little bit.

Almost an hour later, Ava removed her earphones as a maid entered with a tray that held a tall pitcher of homemade lemonade and pastries. On her heels, Cesare strode in, carrying a wide-awake Annabelle, who in turn clutched a bright red toy horse with flowing mane.

‘Mummy, Papà woke me up,’ her daughter said. ‘I had a bad dream.’

Irrational guilt sparked as Cesare’s cool gaze met hers.

‘She tells me she has bad dreams sometimes. You didn’t tell me about them,’ he said almost conversationally, but she didn’t miss the steely undertone.

‘The doctor said it was to be expected, after her trauma.’

‘Look, Mummy, I have a pretty horsey.’ Annabelle’s demand helped her tear her gaze from Cesare’s accusatory stare.

‘I can see that. It’s gorgeous.’ She tried to keep her voice light.

‘Papà got it specially for me.’ Her daughter’s wary gaze darted to her father. At his smile, hers widened a touch.

‘You’re a lucky little girl,’ said Ava. Her laptop trilled as it shut down.

Cesare’s gaze zeroed in on it and she was mildly surprised the machine didn’t incinerate under the laser beam of his disapproval.

Shoving it aside, she stood. Cesare’s scent, coupled with the freshly washed smell from her daughter, caused an intense pang of pain to dart through her.

Hastily, she stepped back and busied herself with pouring drinks, refusing to let her mind flash back to the hallway incident. Annabelle gulped her drink down and immediately jumped down again, ready to reacquaint herself with her home.

‘I asked if there was anything else I should know. You didn’t think I needed to know about her nightmares?’ he rasped fiercely.

Ava bit her lip. ‘They started last week, after I sent Rita home. She calms down when she knows I’m nearby.’

Cesare swore fluently under his breath. ‘I needed to know, Ava.’

She nodded. ‘This was why I wanted to come back. She’s always been happier here.’

His jaw clamped so tight a pulse kicked in his temple. ‘You will tell me everything, no matter how small or insignificant. Agreed?’

The power behind his words rocked her to the core. From near total distance to this fierce protectiveness of Annabelle made her reel. That she had a destructive force of nature to thank tightened chaotic knots in her stomach. ‘Agreed.’

After several seconds, he relaxed.

‘So,’ Cesare drawled, his gaze following Annabelle, who’d picked up Ava’s iPod, inserted one earphone and was now dancing around the room, ‘your commune didn’t just teach you to eat, pray and love, did they also teach little girls how to dance like eccentric rock stars?’

Ava found herself taking her first easy breath since she’d arrived back home. ‘Just because you can’t dance to save your life doesn’t mean you can look down your nose at others. Besides, she gets her dancing gene from me.’

‘No doubt about that,’ he drawled.

‘Watch it!’

Annabelle danced over to them. ‘Can I have a biscuit, please?’

Cesare picked up the plate and held it out to her. ‘It’s called biscotti. Try saying it, piccolina.’ He smiled with undisguised pride when she pronounced it perfectly.

Ava swallowed but the solid lump wouldn’t move from her throat. Blinking away sudden tears, she jumped up and picked up her laptop.

‘If you don’t mind watching her, I’ll go and put this away.’

‘Then we can swim, Mummy? You promised.’ As a prize for being good on the plane, she’d promised her daughter the earth—and a long swim when they got home.

‘Yes, we can, so don’t have too much lemonade, okay?’

As she left the room, she felt Cesare’s incisive gaze probing her back. Her steps quickened, defiantly trying to outrun the calm, completely rational voice asking if she knew what she was letting herself in for.

* * *

They weren’t in the salone or at the pool when she returned five minutes later, dressed in an orange one-piece swimsuit and white shorts with a loose white shirt over the top. Ava was about to return indoors when she heard her daughter’s voice.

Following the flower-lined pathway that curved round the villa, she stopped in her tracks. Cesare and Annabelle were bent over a rose bush, admiring a trio of butterflies fluttering from one bud to the other.

It wasn’t the picture of wonderment on her daughter’s face that stopped Ava’s heart. It was the look of intense pain reflected in Cesare’s face as he gazed at Annabelle. He looked so starkly distraught that she leaned her hand against the wall to steady herself.

And immediately pulled back with a gasp as the baking concrete singed her hand. Cesare glanced up. In an instant the look was gone. If it hadn’t registered for more than a few seconds, Ava would’ve thought she’d imagined it. She held her breath as he straightened up and strode to her.

‘Are you all right?’ he questioned coolly.

‘Hot wall, bare skin. Bad idea. Should remember that.’

He claimed her hand and examined the heated flesh. ‘There’s some ice on the table. I’ll put some on it for you,’ he said.

She glanced at Annabelle.

‘She’s enthralled with her butterflies for now. Come.’ The word was more command than suggestion.

‘Seriously, it’s nothing.’

He cast her a grim smile and marched her to the poolside. ‘Is that why you’re grimacing? Because it’s nothing?’

‘Fine, it hurts like hell. Satisfied?’

Pushing her into one of the padded seats, he sat opposite her. ‘Why do women always say it’s nothing, when clearly it isn’t?’

‘I don’t know. You’ve probably known more women than me. You tell me.’

He didn’t deny it. Just smiled in that oh-so-smug way that made her yearn to kick him. Hard. ‘Normally, it’s just a way of attracting more attention.’

Irritation grew, along with her already heated temperature. He’d used the fully equipped pool house to change into swimming trunks in the time she’d gone upstairs and his bare muscular thighs almost imprisoning hers were covered in short silky hairs that taunted her with their luxuriant promise. The reaction it caused to her body was as unwelcome as it was unstoppable.

‘You think I burned myself deliberately to get your attention? You really think I’m that pathetic?’ Why did her voice sound so husky? And why, when he hadn’t even administered the ice on her stinging palm, were her nipples peaking so painfully?

He smiled, wrapped several ice cubes in a linen napkin and placed it in her palm. ‘No, cara mia. Because you’re not most women.’ His gaze captured hers, the tawny depths smoky, intense and way too captivating for her sanity.

‘Thank you. I think.’ Foolish pleasure stole through her, accelerating her already racing heartbeat.

‘Prego.’ The deep, softly muttered word flowed over her overheating senses.

Everything fell away. The sound of the water splashing against the side of the pool, the warm buzzing of bees in the afternoon air, the sound of boats on the lake. Everything, except the heat radiating from Cesare’s eyes, the warmth of the fingers curled around hers and the emotions rippling through her. His gaze traced her face. When it lingered on her lips, it took all her willpower not to lick them in shameless anticipation.

Unavoidably, her own gaze fell to the sensual curve of his lips; lips she’d tasted mere hours ago.

Heat collected and oozed between her legs, stinging with a need that gripped with relentless force. Realising she hadn’t taken a breath in a dizzyingly long time, she sucked in air through her mouth.

The sound ripped through their sensual cocoon, intensifying the tension arcing between them. Cesare swallowed, the movement of his strong neck making her pulse skitter and her fingers yearn to caress his skin.

His fingers convulsed around hers. Her gaze returned to his face and found his attention riveted on her breasts.

Desire wove a dangerous path through her as she remembered how much he’d once loved her breasts. How he’d used to mould them, shape them with his hands and worship them for what seemed like long, endless hours while he murmured heated Italian words in homage.

His gaze darted back to hers and she knew he was remembering too. Remembering how he’d loved them even more when they grew fuller with her pregnancy.

She couldn’t take it any more. Her eyelids grew heavy, her blood thickening with unbearable yearning even as she tried to pull away.

He held her easily.

‘Cesare...’ She wasn’t sure whether she was pleading or protesting.

His eyes darkened to a burnished gold. He wanted her too. Desperately. The thought sent delight racing through her veins at the exact moment he gave a strangled groan.

‘Cesare, please.’ She wasn’t even certain that she wanted him to answer the sexual need clawing through her. All she knew was that she wanted answers.

She saw his withdrawal even before Annabelle’s distressed voice reached them. ‘Papà, they flew away. I wanted them to stay but the butterflies flew away!’