Читать книгу Italian Mavericks: Bound By The Italian's Bargain - Miranda Lee - Страница 14

CHAPTER SIX

EXCITEMENT AND ANTICIPATION built in Bella the closer she got to the villa. Not long now, she thought eagerly, catching glimpses of the lake through the tall trees.

Suddenly, she no longer felt tired, a burst of adrenalin firing her blood, forcing it to run less sluggishly through her veins. When she’d first exited the plane in Milan, she’d been absolutely wrecked, having managed only the briefest of dozes between stopovers. Unbelievably, she’d forgotten to bring her sleeping tablets with her, which meant she was in for a few sleepless nights at best.

Insomnia was the very devil. Bella hated tossing and turning in bed all night. Hated the negative thoughts that besieged her at such times. Hated the feeling of loneliness, which had been getting worse lately. Still, with a bit of luck the fresh air and change of scene would do what no sleeping tablet could achieve. Make her relax. Make her unwind. Make her work out what she really wanted in life. Because, quite frankly, she wasn’t so sure any more.

There’d been a time when she’d thought she could have it all. An exciting and challenging career on the stage, with a devoted and supportive husband waiting in the wings to take her home afterwards to their lovely home and two happy children. A boy and girl, of course. Nothing but perfection in Bella’s dream world.

It had come as a shock to her as she’d turned thirty last week that she wasn’t even close to living that dream existence, with no hopes of achieving it any time in the near future. Okay, so she still had an exciting and challenging career. On paper. But it didn’t feel as exciting and challenging any more. It just felt like hard work.

As for the idea of a devoted and supportive husband waiting in the wings... That was a pipe dream! Such a man simply did not exist. Men weren’t devoted or supportive. At least, the ones she was attracted to weren’t. They’d all been selfish, arrogant and only wanted her as a notch on their belt, or a status symbol, never as a wife. As for children... Bella knew she could have a baby if she wanted. You didn’t need a husband for that these days. Just a sperm donor. She’d actually considered it—for about thirty seconds, the thought of being a single mother having no appeal whatsoever. She wanted her child—or children—to have a father as well as a mother, a man who actually loved and supported her, and who was hands-on with parenting.

‘Almost there, Signorina Cameron,’ the driver said, startling her out of her introspection.

The driver hadn’t been a talker, thank heavens. But he spoke perfect English, with not too heavy an Italian accent. His name was Luigi and he was about fifty.

‘Yes, I’m beginning to recognise things. I’ve been here before. Though not for several years.’

‘It has not changed. Lake Como. Italy...it does not change much.’

‘No,’ she agreed warmly. ‘That is part of its charm.’

The car pulled into a familiar gravel driveway, coming to a halt in front of tall wooden gates connected to a high stone wall. The gates looked new. The stone wall was not.

‘Signor Morelli died last year,’ Luigi told her in sombre tones as he pointed a remote controller at the gate.

‘Yes, I know. I went to his funeral.’

Luigi frowned at her in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You are not a relative.’

‘No. Just a friend.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded sadly. ‘I miss him. I was his driver for the last year of his life. He was a good man.’

‘Yes,’ Bella choked out. ‘He was.’

‘His son is a good man too.’

‘He certainly is,’ Bella agreed, glad to get off the subject of Alberto’s death.

She was almost relieved when the gates were finally open and Luigi’s attention was occupied with negotiating the Mercedes slowly round the crunchy gravel driveway that encircled a huge stone-edged fountain. As a child Bella had been shocked by the flagrant nudity of the three statues at the centre of the fountain. She still found the male statue slightly confronting. His sexual equipment was decidedly larger than normal, which possibly explained the looks of awe on his two female companions. Sergio’s grandfather—who’d been alive and well when Bella had first holidayed at the villa—had claimed that the model for the male statue was a distant ancestor of his who’d built the villa in the sixteenth century. A myth, Sergio had told her later that same day, explaining that the villa had been a monastery back then, the Morelli family not buying it till late in the nineteenth century. The fountain—despite looking centuries old—was a later addition, built just after the First World War.

‘You will learn, dear Izzie,’ Sergio had confessed quietly with a rueful smile, ‘that Italian men are given to boasting and bragging.’

Bella smiled at the memory. Not that she agreed with Sergio entirely. Yes, some Italian men liked to boast and brag. Sergio’s grandfather had been of that ilk and his father to a lesser degree. Alberto had certainly liked showing off his attractive new wife and his pretty little stepdaughter. Sergio, however, didn’t seem to have the need to impress others. Some people would have shouted to the rooftops that they were having the darling of Broadway as a guest in their home. But not Sergio. He’d insisted she tell no one where she was going, not even her mother.

Which suited Bella admirably, peace and privacy her priorities at the moment. She did wonder, however, if he’d told Maria that she was coming to stay.

Bella was still mulling over this question when the car came to a halt at the back entrance to the villa, the woman herself emerging through one of the heavy iron doors, her wide welcoming smile instantly answering that question.

Bella’s somewhat world-weary heart lifted anew at the sight of her. Why, she’d hardly changed at all! A little plumper perhaps but still with that wonderfully happy face, glossy black hair and dancing dark eyes. When Maria hurried down the stairs and held her arms out wide, Bella climbed from the car straight into the warmest, most welcoming hug she’d had in years.

When Maria exclaimed, ‘Oh, it is so good to see you again, Dolores!’ Bella pulled back and almost burst out laughing. Just in time she kept a poker face, understanding that this was all for Luigi’s benefit. Clearly, Maria knew full well who she was, despite the red wig and dark glasses she wore as a disguise.

Bella waited patiently whilst Luigi collected her luggage and carried it inside, after which she thanked him profusely and gave him a generous tip—she’d changed some money in Rome whilst waiting for the next leg of her flight. When he handed her his business card—in case she needed to be driven somewhere whilst she was here—she popped it in her jeans pocket then waved him off. Once he was safely gone, she whipped off the glasses and red wig and shook her fair hair free.

‘Can I be called Bella now?’ she asked Maria, who giggled in that delightfully girlish way Bella remembered.

‘Sì. But is it allowed, now you are rich and famous?’

Bella gave her a look of mock reproach. ‘If you start that nonsense I will have to speak to your employer. Which reminds me, where is Sergio? Is he here yet?’

‘Sì. He is helping Carlo with the garden and the pool. We did not know Sergio was to come here till later in July, so things have been a bit...what you say...neglectful? He said to tell you to go find him after you arrive.’

Bella smiled. She loved the way Maria spoke. Loved her Italian accent. Loved her little mistakes with English words. It was charming. She was charming. This whole place was charming.

‘Oh, Maria!’ she said with a deeply contented sigh. ‘You’ve no idea how happy I am to be here.’

‘Not as happy as Sergio. He is most...excited.’

Bella suspected Maria hadn’t got that word right. Sergio was not the excitable type. Never had been. As much as she admired his self-contained persona, Bella found his tendency to be slightly straitlaced a touch irritating. Bella had never forgotten the night of her sixteenth birthday when she’d boldly asked him to kiss her. Bold for her, since she wasn’t at all bold when it came to the opposite sex. But all the girls from her class had been there at the party. Several of them had even drooled over Sergio, who’d turned up looking very hot and hunky compared to the boys at school. One of the girls had actually dared her to go and kiss him, so she had. And what had he done? Stiffened all over then given her a one-second peck which had been both humiliating and rather hurtful, considering she’d thought she looked quite hot herself that night.

No, Sergio was not the excitable type. He certainly wasn’t a typical hot-blooded Italian male. A good man, though, as the driver said.

‘I might freshen up before I go find him,’ Bella said, linking arms with Maria and steering her inside out of the heat. She’d forgotten how hot it could get here in the summer. ‘What room have you put me in?’

‘Sergio said you were to have one of the rooms next to his. He is in the master bedroom.’

Of course, Bella thought. He was master of the house now.

In the old days all children—even Sergio—had slept on the top floor of the villa, in bedrooms which didn’t have the size or the luxury of the bedrooms on the middle floor, where all three rooms had en-suite bathrooms and French doors that opened out onto a wide, cool balcony. The master bedroom, which was central to the three, was extra large with a king-sized four-poster bed and the most decadent bathroom Bella had ever seen. All black marble and a huge sunken spa bath.

‘Do I have a choice of which bedroom?’ she asked as they mounted the stone staircase that led up to the first floor.

Maria shrugged. ‘It is no matter. They have both been freshly cleaned. You choose.’

‘Perhaps the one with the gold bedspread, then.’

Which was how Bella came to be unpacking in the room where her mother and Alberto had once slept when they had stayed there all those years ago, a delightful room whose décor was cream and gold and which Bella had always admired. It hadn’t changed over the years, she thought as she dispensed with her too-hot jeans and pulled out a cool wrap-around dress made in the softest silk. The lovely antique furniture was the same, as was the gold-embossed wallpaper and the semi-transparent curtains that blew softly in the breeze from the lake. The bathroom was just as beautiful, Bella thought as she put her hair up in a loose knot and had a quick shower, the floor and walls covered in a cream marble with gold veins running through it. The fittings were all gold, the cream towels thick and soft. Once dried and dressed, Bella decided not to bother with make-up. Or with any further titivating. She was on holiday, after all. And the paparazzi had no idea she was here.

She might have lain down for a sleep—the big soft bed beckoned—but politeness insisted she find Sergio and tell him of her arrival. Maria had said that Sergio hadn’t been expecting her for another hour or two yet. Understandable. When her plane had set down in Rome Bella had been told that the flight to Milan had been delayed an hour, with her text to Sergio informing him of the fact. But the plane had actually taken off only half an hour late with the pilot making up good time with favourable winds. So she’d arrived at the villa earlier than the mid-afternoon Sergio would have anticipated.

When Bella emerged from the bathroom, she headed out onto the balcony, which gave an excellent view, not just of the lake, but the villa’s lovely garden and grounds. Glancing down and around in search of Sergio, her eyes immediately landed on a man who was vacuuming the pool. He was tall and dark-haired, wearing nothing but a pair of brief swimming trunks, showing off an impressive physique.

Dear heaven, she thought as she ogled the way his back muscles moved underneath his gorgeous skin. Not fair skin like her own, but beautifully bronzed in the way only men of Mediterranean genes achieved without using artificial methods. He was beautiful all over, she thought, with broad shoulders and a nicely shaped head, crowned with thick black hair that gleamed in the sunshine. She could not stop staring down at him, her lonely heart envying Maria for ensnaring herself such a hunky husband. For this had to be Carlo.

But no sooner had this thought entered her head than Carlo lifted his head and looked straight up at her, his very familiar eyes bringing a gasp to her lips.

For it wasn’t Carlo but Sergio; the supposedly strait-laced, coolly contained Sergio, looking every inch the hot-blooded Italian his heritage demanded he be, his hair longer than she remembered, his chin covered with a dark stubble that looked very macho on him. Very...sexy.

‘What are you doing here this early?’ he said, smiling up at her.

Bella struggled to put aside her shock, both at Sergio’s near-naked beauty, plus her reaction to it. She didn’t want to be attracted to Sergio; didn’t want that kind of distraction, or complication. She’d come here for some much-needed rest. The last thing she needed was to be plagued by awkward feelings that were both unexpected and unwanted.

Damn it all, I do not want this, Bella thought with a burst of true frustration.

Hopefully, once Sergio put some clothes back on, she would be able to look at him and feel nothing but what she’d always felt for him, which was admiration and affection. Not sexual attraction.

Yet it was very much sexual attraction that was at this moment rattling her composure. She couldn’t stop staring at him, her heartbeat picking up its pace as it did just before she went on stage some nights. When her face began to flush with an embarrassing heat, Bella harnessed every ounce of willpower she owned and returned his smile.

‘The pilot put his foot down between Rome and Milan,’ she told him, her casual tone amazing her. Maybe she was as good an actress as Charlie said she was.

‘I see,’ Sergio replied. ‘Look, I’m almost finished here, which is just as well,’ he added ruefully. ‘I haven’t been this hot in living memory. Go down to the kitchen and get Maria to open a bottle of my favourite Chablis, will you? She knows the one. We can share it down here on the terrace. I’ll just have a quick swim first,’ he added and walked down to the far end of the pool, where he stood there with his legs slightly apart and his arms by his sides before glancing up at her again. ‘I’d suggest you join me in the pool but I imagine you’re feeling jet-lagged after such a long flight.’

‘I am tired,’ she managed to reply, thinking she hadn’t felt this hot in living memory either. Or ever, for that matter.

Despite her knowing she should stop ogling Sergio, her gaze kept roving over his near-naked body, marvelling at how utterly gorgeous he was without clothes on. Better looking than any man she’d ever been to bed with. He was perfectly shaped, his broad-shouldered chest tapering down into a slim waist, a tight butt and long, strong legs. He also had just the right amount of muscle. Whatever Sergio had been doing over the years he hadn’t become a couch potato. Which begged the question of what had he been doing with himself since their parents’ divorce? She doubted he’d been working in the family firm if he was living in London. The Morelli business was in Milan. Unless, of course, Alberto had given Sergio charge of a London branch, the way his father had sent him to Sydney all those years ago.

This train of thought momentarily distracted Bella from her embarrassing ogling, curiosity over what Sergio did for a living making her agree to go in search of Maria, and that bottle of wine. At least, she told herself it was curiosity. It couldn’t possibly be because she wanted to see him up closer, or wanted to find out, not so much about his career path, but about his personal life.

By the time Bella settled herself at the table on the terrace, however, she admitted to herself that that was exactly what she wanted to find out. But to what end, Bella? she asked herself as she surreptitiously watched Sergio surging through the water with effortless ease. You’ve come here to Lake Como for peace and quiet, not to have an affair with your long-lost stepbrother. Which is what might happen if you start flirting with him. Bella knew men found her desirable. Some claimed to find her irresistible.

Till they get you into bed, that is, came the stark reminder. Then, after a while, they don’t find you quite so desirable, or irresistible. Face it, Bella, you are a bore in bed. A failure. You might be beautiful to look at but you are incapable of being truly turned on. Your finding Sergio physically attractive means nothing. You’ve always been attracted to tall, dark and handsome. Unfortunately, that attraction never seems to translate into passion, the kind that bypasses shy and forces you to lose control.

Bella had always envied the way her lovers sometimes lost control. It would be wonderful, just once, to lose control. But she never had. Perhaps she never would. Or could. Maybe it was something she’d inherited from her mother, whose iron will and self-control bordered on obsessive. Maybe her shyness when naked was not shyness at all but an unwillingness to let down the in-built defences that came from being the daughter of an embittered and cynical woman. Bella had no doubt her mother loved her but it was a warped kind of love. Possessive and controlling and manipulative.

It was at this depressing point in her train of thought that Sergio stopped at the end of the pool less than three metres from the table Bella was sitting at.

‘Time to get out,’ he said, bringing her attention to his face; his sexily unshaven face.

Bella smothered a sigh of exasperation at her ongoing thoughts. Common sense demanded she drag her gaze away from Sergio, but she could not. So she watched, heart racing, as he placed his two palms on the flat surrounds and pushed upwards, his biceps bulging as he propelled himself out of the pool in a single leap. He landed like a big cat on the flagstones, water streaming down his chest as he straightened then slicked his hair back with large wet hands. Bella’s breath caught in her throat as she just stared at him, her hungry gaze raking over his gorgeous male body from top to toe.

Thank heavens Maria appeared with the ice bucket and glasses at that point, Bella glad to have an excuse to turn away and help her. Not that looking away from Sergio achieved all that much. It hadn’t taken more than a couple of seconds for her to spy what was on display within the confines of his tightly fitted shorts. Not only was Sergio hotter looking without clothes on than any man she’d ever been with, but he was bigger. Quite a bit bigger, if her eyes hadn’t deceived her.

Her mouth dried as she imagined how it would feel to be made love to by a man of such impressive proportions. Though making love was hardly what she had in mind. The sexual fantasy suddenly filling Bella’s head was not romantic, or gentle. In it, Sergio was taking her without foreplay, without tenderness, without lies about loving. She did not want to be told he loved her. She just wanted sex. Raw, naked, animal sex.

Not just attraction this time, Bella accepted shakily as she picked up the bottle of wine that sat in the ice bucket in the middle of the table. This was lust. The most famous of the seven deadly sins. Infamous for its power to seduce and to destroy; for banishing consciences and making fools of the most sensible people.

As much as Bella craved the scenario of losing control, she’d hoped she would be in love at the time, not in lust. When she’d arrived here, she certainly hadn’t envisaged falling in lust with Sergio. The possibility that she might make a fool of herself with him truly horrified her. By the time he wrapped a towel around his hips and joined her at the table, she’d managed to banish that wicked fantasy to the far reaches of her mind, determined not to give in to urges that were not very nice. Already they threatened to spoil her holiday, something she refused to allow. She needed this break, quite desperately. What she did not need was to fall victim to feelings that were strictly sexual and superficial. She did not love Sergio. She didn’t even know him any more. If truth be told, he was virtually a stranger. The boy she’d once known and liked had become a man. A man with his own life and his own plans. A man who undoubtedly already had a woman in his life. Only a fool would imagine otherwise.

After the break-up with Andrei last year, Bella had vowed to stop being a fool where men were concerned. Time to test that vow!

Gathering herself, she schooled her face into a mask of indifference to Sergio’s near nakedness and poured him a glass of wine.

‘You swim very well,’ she said coolly as she handed him the glass. ‘But then, you always did.’