Читать книгу The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro - Natalie Anderson - Страница 15

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘PLAY the elephant one again.’

‘OK,’ Emily laughed. ‘But you have to do the singing.’

She and Marco were having a fine time at the piano. Giggling over Emily’s deliberately wrong notes and the game of starting over again.

‘What’s going on?’ Luca didn’t sound anywhere near as amused as they were.

Marco leapt off the seat but Emily refused to jump to attention. She slowly turned. What was he doing home in the middle of the day?

‘We’re playing the piano.’ Coolly she answered with the obvious.

‘Marco.’ Micaela was at the doorway in a blink and her son scarpered from the room. Emily saw the anxious glance the housekeeper sent Luca. She didn’t blame her. There was something in his silent appraisal that had her feeling uncomfortable too. But she wasn’t going to let it show. Luca might be the boss of Micaela, but he wasn’t the boss of her. She was his guest—wasn’t she? Not an employee to be told off for insubordination or overstepping the mark.

Micaela said something in Italian. He gave only a brief reply, a flash of teeth and then the woman stepped back. She sent a small smile in Emily’s direction, but Emily barely saw it, too busy trying to read the unreadable mask that was Luca’s face and growing all the more irritated with her failure.

Luca heard the door click and knew Micaela had headed to the kitchen. He stepped further into the lounge, unable to take his eyes off Emily, unable to stop the churning feeling inside.

For the forty-six thousandth time he asked himself what he was doing. Jerked his shoulders because he had no idea and it irritated him. He couldn’t have left her at that hostel, he’d been right to bring her here—a week or so, she’d get sorted and they’d burn themselves out. But he hadn’t had enough of her. If anything his desire was growing. Only two days into it and here he was at home in the middle of the day because he wanted to see her, wanted to talk to her, wanted to spend time with her.

With wary movements she turned a little to the side and gestured. ‘It’s a beautiful piano. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No.’ She looked disconcerted at his bald reply and he forced himself to elaborate. ‘I used to sit by my mother when she played.’ It was one of the few happy memories he had of her before the sickness had struck.

‘Was this hers?’

‘No. My father got rid of it not long after her death. This is the one she should have had.’

‘Is that why you have it?’

‘I needed something to fill the space.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know you played.’

‘I’ve accompanied Kate for years.’

Of course she had—literally, emotionally. Only now Kate no longer needed her. ‘Will you play for me?’ He wanted to sit where Marco had.

‘Maybe later.’ She closed the lid.

He was going to take her out to lunch. This was her first trip to London and so far she hadn’t exactly had the best tour of it. It wasn’t so much fun seeing the sights on your own. He didn’t bother when he travelled for work, just focused on the job. But he felt a whim to see Emily enjoy London; he wanted to see how beautiful she was as she explored it. Only now that idea went right out the window as he stared at her, sitting at his piano.

‘You were wearing that tee shirt at the Arena.’ Her eyes were that bright green. His mouth went dry, senses homed in on one thing only—her. The need was stronger than ever. He stepped closer, watching her reaction—he could see her breathing accelerate, see her breasts tighten and her mouth part.

Sì.

He took her face in both hands, caressed her high, smooth cheekbones with his thumbs before bending close. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he looked into her flushed features, at her gleaming, dilated eyes, and raw satisfaction kicked as she leant back towards him—seeking.

This was what he wanted. He scooped her up and carried her straight up to her room, hooking her door shut behind him with his foot.

As he set her down she mumbled beneath his mouth, ‘Micaela…Marco.’

‘They won’t hear us.’ And he made sure of it by simply placing his lips back over hers and keeping them there. Kissing and connecting deep. And all the while he refused to think, refused to analyse why it was that when he was sealed together with her like this, his very soul seemed to soar. He just wanted to fly.

Emily drew the sheet over her and watched as he stepped into the en suite bathroom and showered briefly before dressing. He looked a different man from the dark angel who had appeared before. Now his expression was lighter; he was smiling as he pulled his trousers back on.

‘Is that what you came home for?’

‘Actually, no.’ He grinned. ‘But there’s always tomorrow. And—’ a quick kiss on her lips ‘—I’ll be back tonight.’ He was out of the door before she had the chance to ask more.

Moments later she heard him speaking in Italian, heard the higher-pitched tones as Micaela answered. Emily winced. He’d still been doing up his belt as he’d left her room. It couldn’t have been more obvious that they’d had a tryst. That he was a satisfied man. And for the first time in their affair, a trickle of embarrassment crept in.

What had that been all about if not purely for a lunchtime quickie? Never mind that she’d revelled in it—loving the sense of closeness that had come with all the kissing. But it wasn’t real, was it, that closeness? That had just been to stop them shouting and making even more of an awkward situation with Micaela and her son in the rooms below. All it was to Luca was the sex. There was no hint of involvement with his life—no dates, no suggestion of going out to dinner, no plans to see or do anything…

Wasn’t she good enough for even a little romance? Couldn’t he at least play at it as he had that day in Verona—with his posh picnic and fine wine and saucy sweet talk? Or did he think he didn’t need to bother any more? That he knew she’d put out for him the minute he so much as looked at her?

And it was true. Damn it. She would. Because nothing on earth had ever felt as good as having Luca in her bed, in her arms and in her body.

She waited in her room until she was sure Micaela and Marco would have left for the day. Then she walked—for hours along the river, trying to figure out how to fix the crack that was appearing in the holiday fling. She didn’t want it to end but she might have to reset the rules.

Luca got home as soon as he could without officially declaring it a holiday. Who was he kidding? His brain had gone AWOL days ago. And after leaving her earlier, he had taken a detour. Another whim, another moment of madness. He’d wanted to find something for her. In his mind’s eye he’d seen her playing the piano, in that old worn shirt and thin skirt, her bare arms and naked fingers making such music. He’d never felt jealous of a four-year-old boy before but he’d have given anything to sit where Marco had been sitting and be the beneficiary of that beautiful smile and all that attention.

He had the even stronger desire to take a few days off and take her on a jaunt—truly make it a holiday. But as that idea teased he clenched his teeth hard together; mentally he inked the line and underlined it again. Too damn dangerous. Already he was in a position he’d vowed never to let happen—he had a lover who’d lasted more than a few dates and, worse, she was staying in his own home. And while he was trying to maintain much of his usual distance, every day it was eroding and the desire to keep distant was eroding fast with it.

He had to fight harder. He had to finish this sooner rather than later because the one thing he refused to risk again was getting close to anyone. Because he always lost out, didn’t he? Those he loved never stuck around. Losing Nikki had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him. In no way was he up for anything like a repeat. He wanted some fun now, he’d earned it with all the years of nothing but work, but fun was all it could be.

But when he walked in and found Emily was out, disappointment hit him heavy in the chest. He sat at the kitchen counter and opened another box of the grissini he’d got Micaela to find especially for her. Gnawing on the breadstick, he appreciated it for the displacement activity it was.

He glanced at his watch and then out at the sky. Not long now and the darkness would fall completely. Maybe she’d gone to see Kate. Maybe she’d left him? At that thought he went to her room and felt relief gush as he saw her pack still there, small items still scattered on the table.

And then irritation mopped all the good feeling up. Well, where was she, then? And what was he doing even worrying about it? This was what he didn’t want. He didn’t want to be so concerned about someone else; he was comfort-eating breadsticks while he waited for her. He didn’t want to wait for anybody. He didn’t want to be sitting around letting someone else mess with his emotions.

He poured wine, drank it, decided to give her ’til nine and then he’d start walking the neighbourhood.

Ten minutes later the key scraped against the door and he raced to jerk it open.

‘Where have you been?’ he positively barked, and then had to take a breath and remind himself to chill out.

‘Walking.’ She looked surprised. ‘I didn’t think you’d be home this early.’

‘Oh.’ Ordinarily he wasn’t. But ordinarily his ultimate temptation wasn’t waiting for him on his sofa.

Except she hadn’t been. She’d been out somewhere and now she looked knackered. ‘Come and eat. You look done in.’

She sat at the counter and helped herself to the grissini as he poured a large glass of red. He let her sip and munch while he pulled a salad from the fridge, tossed some onto a plate for her, and broke some bread to put alongside it. ‘Where did you go?’

She shrugged. ‘For a walk down by the river.’ She crunched for another moment. ‘It’s a lovely night. Lots of people spilling out of pubs.’

‘You didn’t go in?’

‘Not on my own, no.’

He hadn’t been down that way in ages. She was right, he wasn’t usually home by now—still working, watching the US markets, and then when they closed those in Asia were almost due to open again… He glanced out of the window. It was a warm night—a drink by the river would be nice.

Then he remembered his mild panic when she hadn’t been home—not nice—and so he held back the whim. He’d succumbed to two of those already today. He set down a platter of cheese and meat for her to pick at as well as the salad.

‘Have you spoken to Kate at all?’ She should go out with her sister. Then he wouldn’t have either this niggle of guilt or this leap of temptation.

‘No.’ She kept her eyes on the plates. ‘She’s busy.’

Busy being self-absorbed.

But he didn’t go there, he let her eat, told her some lame scuba story. When she’d finished he whisked away her plate. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere comfortable.’

She did look tired. He wanted to make her smile—he hoped he had just the thing. He led her to the lounge and nudged her onto the sofa and went to the stereo to choose some music.

Emily sighed as she found the page in her book and tried to concentrate, wondering whether she really did have the guts to mention the rules, let alone reset them. He sat beside her but had no book tonight, seemed content to lie down, using her thighs as his pillow. She stroked his hair with her fingers, unable to resist touching. He turned his face towards her. She felt his warmth through her shirt. Maybe he wasn’t so content because she could feel his fingers, feel his breath, feel his…lips.

He batted her book with his hand, knocking it to the floor.

She shifted back a fraction and looked down.

‘You weren’t reading it anyway,’ he defended, eyes dancing.

She leant forward this time, so her sensitive nipple brushed his mouth again. ‘You were making that impossible.’

He didn’t deny it, just made any kind of concentration impossible again with his teasing tongue. She sighed, eyes closing, giving in.

But he stopped, smiled once more when she looked at him. ‘I have something for you.’ He reached a hand under the sofa and pulled out a small rectangular box.

She looked at it and marvelled at how fast her heart could suddenly beat without warning. She knew that brand—the world-famous jewellery store. She told herself to calm down—it wasn’t the shape of a ring box—besides, she didn’t want any kind of box, she wanted… ‘Luca—’

‘Open it.’

It took a little more effort than she’d thought it would. When it finally clicked, she stared at the contents. Confusion blinded her. On the backdrop of velvet so navy it was almost black rested the most exquisite bracelet she’d ever seen. It was fine and, oh, how it sparkled, even like that, lying still in the box. Diamond after diamond after diamond, strung together by delicate platinum.

Her heart totally stopped then. What was he doing giving her something like this? She munched the inside of her cheek. What was this for? ‘Luca?’

Lying there, looking up into her face, he must have read her unease. ‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t expensive.’

Yeah, right. ‘Don’t lie to me, Luca.’ She shifted the box and met his eyes. ‘Not even to be nice.’

He met her gaze square on. ‘It wasn’t expensive for me. It’s just a trinket.’

It wasn’t just anything, not to Emily. Questions crowded her head once more. Increasingly nasty questions. Was this part of his usual game plan? Did he buy all his lovers a beautiful piece of jewellery? Was this a little nothing, a bonbon to sweeten the goodbye? Had he bought it himself or got his secretary to race out? Or did he have a stash of them even, in a drawer in his secret bedroom that was as out of bounds as Bluebeard’s dungeon? The evil thoughts kept coming, swirling before her and clouding her vision of what was a beautiful bracelet. So classical, elegant and stunning—nothing like her.

‘Why?’ It was the only word she could get out.

He sat up, leaving her lap cold. ‘Because I wanted to.’

That simple, huh? Because he wanted. That was the way Luca liked to operate—keeping things on a simple plane.

‘Why did you want to?’ She really, really wanted to understand.

‘I just did.’ He shrugged. ‘You deserve spoiling.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Oh, come on, Emily, it hasn’t been easy for you these last few years.’

Her blood chilled. ‘Is this about pity, Luca?’

‘No. You know it isn’t.’

‘So what is it, then?’

‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘I feel like you’ve earned it.’

‘Earned it how exactly?’ As his lover? Her blood was ice now and any moment she’d snap.

Silence thickened as she stared at him. He was just as relentless about staring back and his jaw grew ever more square and hard.

Finally he shook his head slowly at her. ‘Why do we have to have this in-depth examination of “why”? I just wanted to give you something nice. Get you something nice. I thought it would look pretty. You have the most lovely long arms. Nice wrists.’

Now he was getting frustrated and, despite a film of reservation still keeping her cool, she couldn’t stop her small smile. ‘Nice wrists?’

‘Yes.’ His hand encircled one. ‘Very fine.’

She looked back at the box to hide her see-sawing emotions. ‘Thank you.’

Part of her was thrilled, flattered, flushed…but deeper inside she doubted. Despite its undeniably hefty price tag, it made her feel cheap. Baubles were not what she wanted from Luca. She’d rather have had nothing at all. One moment he was insisting on this being a stringless fling and then he was giving her this? She didn’t need mixed messages and he’d just ripped the scab off her vulnerability. Because there was a wound—underneath she’d begun to want more. Words, meaning…and emotion.

Trying to hide that fact, even from herself, she turned into him, breathed in his scent, nuzzled his warm neck, and sought the response that was always readily given. The box slipped to the floor as she moved to get closer to him. She silenced herself with the press of her lips to his skin.

Hours later she lay awake but pretended to be asleep. She could feel the restlessness that he was trying to contain. He moved slowly but she felt the bed lift as his weight was removed from it. Felt the brief blast of cooler air as he raised the covers to escape. Now he tucked them back around her. She kept her eyes closed, trying to keep her expression relaxed as if in deep repose, for she knew that the chink in the curtains let in light from the streetlamps and he’d be able to see enough of her features to know.

But she must have done OK because he said nothing, suspected nothing, ran a finger very lightly over her shoulder and then left the room.

The first night he’d said he had to go and do some work. The second night, he’d said he had to check his email. Now he offered no excuse.

At some point every night, he left. He didn’t want to wake next to her, to start the day with her at his side. It only underlined the level of their relationship—that there wasn’t one. And while that was what they’d agreed to, Emily knew it wasn’t what she wanted any more.