Читать книгу Italian Mavericks: New Year Temptation - Robyn Grady - Страница 16

‘I’VE just discovered that you haven’t been entirely truthful with me,’ Luigi spat.

Megan frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ She had no idea what he was talking about. And she’d never seen him look at her so coldly or accusingly. It set her teeth on edge and made goose-bumps rise all over her body.

‘The fact that you indulged in an affair with another man and lied to me about it,’ he shot at her harshly.

‘What?’ she shrieked, jumping up from the bed. ‘You’re not making sense. Who, for pity’s sake, am I supposed to have slept with?’ She dragged her dressing gown on over her nightie and hugged it closely around her. ‘Where did you conjure up that piece of fiction?’

‘Straight from the horse’s mouth, if you must know,’ he thundered.

Megan shook her head. ‘This is nonsense.’

‘I knew you’d say that,’ he scorned. ‘I was expecting it.’

‘So why don’t you tell me who’s made these accusations?’ she asked him coldly, an icy shiver beginning to take over. It was all she could do to keep herself still.

‘Your dear friend, Jake.’

‘Jake?’ Megan echoed dazedly. ‘You have to be joking. In any case, when did you speak to him? Jenny hasn’t rung to say they’re back.’

‘They are, I assure you. I phoned them myself.’

‘Why?’ she questioned loudly.

‘I needed to make sure she wasn’t out of pocket with you moving out so suddenly.’

‘And you spoke to Jake, and he told you that he and I had had an affair, is that what you’re saying?’ Megan couldn’t comprehend. Why would Jake make such a statement when it wasn’t true?

‘He hinted that you’d been friends before Jenny came on the scene, and the emphasis he put on the word “friends” made me realise what he was trying to tell me.’

‘So he didn’t put it in as many words?’

‘He didn’t need to. I got the message.’

It was true; she had known Jake before Jenny did. She had worked with him when she first came to London, and he’d sort of taken her under his wing. But she hadn’t had any kind of relationship with him, even though he would have liked to. She hadn’t felt ready to commit to any man. One day he’d gone back to the flat with her to borrow a book and she’d been delighted when he and Jenny struck up a close friendship.

‘Why should it bother you that I might have seen other men during our separation?’ she asked him coolly, at the same time thinking that this could work in her favour. Luigi had had other girls, she knew, but he seemed incensed when it came to her doing the same. This could be a way to keep him at a distance.

‘Because you’re my woman,’ he snarled, practically bouncing on his feet. His dark eyes glittered in the light from the bedside lamp, and his face was angular and savage—and gorgeously handsome.

Megan shook the thought away. Luigi was her number one enemy. She must remember that. She must never see him as an expert lover, as a man who could melt her bones by a mere glance or a touch. He had never treated her fairly, not once in all the years of their marriage. He was self-centred and egotistical. She dismissed the fact that he was an excellent provider and an expert businessman. It was the unadulterated love of a good man that she desired. And love wasn’t high on Luigi’s list of priorities. In fact she doubted it even existed.

‘I am not your woman,’ she told him tersely. ‘You gave up all rights to me when you chose work over your marriage.’

‘I did it for us!’ he exclaimed loudly.

‘So you keep saying. But it wasn’t what I wanted.’

‘And did Jake Whatever-his-name-is give you what you wanted?’ he demanded fiercely.

‘That’s my business.’ She saw the angry glitter harden in his eyes and his body swayed dangerously towards her. But she stood her ground, her eyes fierce in their determination, even though there was a part of her that couldn’t dismiss the sensations playing on her nerve-ends—excitement and hatred bundled into one.

‘And I think it’s my business now to remind you, in a very personal way, that I don’t want any other man to touch you ever again.’ They were so close that Megan could feel his breath on her face, feel the warmth of his body, and she could even smell the male sexiness that had at one time driven her insane. ‘You are my woman,’ he continued grimly. ‘You can deny it all you like, but you belong to me for the rest of your life.’

If that wasn’t a warning she didn’t know what was. For the rest of her life! In her present frame of mind it sounded like a death sentence and she wanted to lash out, to pound her fists on his hard, muscular chest, to kick his shins, to let him know in no uncertain terms that he was mistaken.

But she was afraid to make too much noise in case she woke Charlotte. So she maintained a reasonable decorum. ‘Carry on like that and I really will divorce you,’ she said quietly. ‘Marriages aren’t built on threats, nor on absentee husbands. And if you can’t live with the fact that you believe I’ve had an affair with Jake then I’ll willingly move out.’

‘No!’

The boom of his voice sent her eyes fluttering towards Charlotte’s door, fortunately closed. Sometimes she left it open, but tonight she’d been reading and was afraid the light might waken her daughter. She thanked her lucky stars now for her foresight.

‘I’ve told you, I will never let you go.’

‘Unless you change your ways you won’t be able to hold me,’ she declared vehemently. ‘Threats won’t work.’

‘I’ll threaten you all I like,’ he snarled, ‘since you don’t seem to be prepared to even meet me halfway.’

‘Meet you, when you are the one laying down the rules?’ she questioned heatedly. ‘You are the one who insisted I stay here. You are the one who insisted on employing a nanny for Charlotte. You are the one who’s insisting we go away for a few days. My opinion has never counted.’

‘Because I know what’s good for you.’

Megan’s anger boiled over. ‘There you go again. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that a happy marriage means give and take? All you do is take, and I’m heartily fed up with it. Change that attitude and we might get somewhere.’

She watched as his mouth folded into a grim line and his eyes narrowed until she could see nothing through the slits of his lids. A quiver of unease tracked its way through her limbs. It looked as though she’d gone too far. Yet he deserved it. Why shouldn’t she toss him a few home truths?

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d meet me halfway, Megan.’

It was not the response she’d expected and although it was delivered in hard, terse tones she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. She dismissed it immediately. Guilt had no place to play in this scenario. Not on her part anyway. Luigi was the one at fault—every inch of the way.

She had thought that meeting his daughter would soften him up, but that hadn’t happened. He was no nearer to being a caring husband or father than he had been all those years ago. He was in charge and he expected everyone to jump at his command. Well, not this girl!

‘Why should I?’ she asked with a toss of her head. ‘Why should I subject my daughter to a tyrant of a father?’

‘Tyrant?’ he exploded. ‘Is that how you see me?’

‘All the time.’

He closed his eyes and his fingers curled into tight fists, and Megan had the feeling that it was taking all his self-control not to lash out at her. She was tired of this confrontation. She wanted him to go. He had come here ready for a fight and because she hadn’t caved in and eaten humble pie he was still spoiling for one.

She wouldn’t give him that pleasure.

‘Fortunately Charlotte doesn’t see it that way,’ she added. ‘Perhaps because she hasn’t been here long enough and you’re on your best behaviour in front of her.’

Luigi snorted derisively. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re blinded by hatred. In fact you’re the one with the problem. If you’d jump down off your high horse occasionally you’d see how much I’ve changed.’

Megan gave a tight, brittle laugh. ‘Then I must be blind. Have we finished this conversation? I really would like to get some sleep.’ Not that she expected to drop off now. She was far too uptight.

‘Maybe it is finished, but not satisfactorily,’ he barked, swinging on his heel and heading for the door.

‘You mean that it hurt when I didn’t deny having a fling with Jake?’ she taunted. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. I’m not worrying about the girls you bedded while I was busy bringing up your daughter. We were free agents at the time. Why drag up the past?’

Again his mouth thinned but to give him his due he didn’t retaliate; he simply wrenched open the door and stepped smartly outside. She half-expected him to slam it, was thankful when he didn’t. She didn’t want Charlotte or even Kate wondering why he was storming out of her room.

The thought occurred to her that Kate might not know they slept in separate rooms. Had Luigi told her anything about their circumstances, or did she think they were a normal happily married couple? It could be embarrassing if she ever came in to see to Charlotte and saw that Megan slept alone.

Luigi had been spitting fire when he sought Megan out. He had phoned her friend on the spur of the moment, not really knowing whether she was back from France. Jake had answered. And when Luigi stated his business he had gone into a long tribute to Megan. So much so that Luigi had begun to gain the impression that more had gone on between them than Megan had ever admitted. He’d felt an indescribable jealousy. The very thought of another man touching his wife was sickeningly abhorrent and he’d been prepared to shake the truth out of Megan.

And now when he thought back on their conversation he realised that he hadn’t won at all. Megan was tougher than he’d realised and she had fought back with admirable qualities. He still didn’t know whether she’d actually slept with Jake and the thought drove him crazy.

So much so that he couldn’t sleep. In the end he dragged on a tartan dressing gown over his boxer shorts, went downstairs to his den and sat at his computer. There was work that needed to be done but, dammit, he couldn’t do that either. He kept seeing images of a fired-up Megan as she stood before him.

How he had fought the urge to pull her hard against him he didn’t know. He’d wanted to forget everything Jake had told him and make love to her. With her hair tousled and her face flushed, and nothing on beneath her cotton nightdress, his virulent male hormones had sprung into life. He loved Megan so much that it tore him apart when she rejected him. Was he really as bad as she painted?

It was true that no one ever saw themselves as other people did, but a tyrant? Always taking, never giving? He wasn’t like that. The presents he’d bought both her and Charlotte should have proved it. And she had this huge house to live in, no more worries about rent. He was prepared to give her anything she wanted. He’d even cut down on his working hours; hadn’t she noticed that?

The more he thought about it the more confused he became. He picked up the whisky bottle and poured himself a generous measure, tossing it down his throat in one swallow before refilling it. This time he set it on the desk in front of him, fingering the cut-glass, twisting it absently round and round. But the more he thought about the situation the more he failed to understand it and fury rose once more inside him. He gulped down the rest of the whisky and in a fit of rage threw the glass at the fireplace, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces.

The next moment his door was pushed open and there stood Megan, pale-faced and questioning, still in her nightdress and dressing gown. With nothing on underneath! This was the first thought that registered. The second was, what was she doing here? Why wasn’t she in bed? And his third, perhaps she’d had a change of heart, realised that she’d been too hard on him, and had come to make amends.

His entire body throbbed in anticipation.

Megan looked from him to the fragments of glass in the hearth and then back again, a faint frown dragging her brows together. ‘So you’re still angry about Jake?’

Damn! She wasn’t supposed to have said that. He felt his sudden hope draining away. ‘What are you doing here?’ he enquired gruffly.

‘I was on my way to the kitchen to heat some milk.’

‘Your conscience troubling you?’ he sneered. He couldn’t help himself. His optimism had been so miserably dashed.

‘Not as much as yours, obviously,’ she riposted, backing away from the doorway, ready to carry on her journey.

‘Wait!’ he said, though he didn’t know why. He wanted her company and yet he knew it would be volatile. But better that than nothing.

She looked boldly and questioningly in his direction. ‘For what? More of what you’ve just put me through? No, thank you.’ And this time she walked away.

But Luigi wasn’t prepared to let her go. He couldn’t get through this night without her. ‘Megan, please.’

She faltered and stopped.

‘Come and talk to me.’

‘Why should I?’

‘It’s silly us both being wide awake. We may as well keep each other company.’

‘Not if you’re going to pick another fight.’ She half turned towards him but still looked prepared to flee.

He held up his hands. ‘Truce.’

‘How can I believe you? You already have me hung, drawn and quartered. Why should I escape more misery?’

‘Because I don’t feel like my own company at this moment.’ He was exposing his feelings in a way he never had before. He always liked to give the image that he was in complete control—which he usually was. It was only Megan who managed to instil doubt into him—doubt and despair.

‘You mean you might throw a few more glasses? Is it an image of me that you’re throwing them at or disgust with yourself?’

He winced, but refused to give her the pleasure of seeing how accurate her second guess was. ‘Perhaps it’s a bad idea. I wasn’t intending it to be a re-run of what happened upstairs. I simply thought we might both enjoy some company. But if it’s too much for you…’ He saw her hesitate, the doubt in her eyes, then the reluctant decision that he might be right.

‘Very well,’ she answered quietly, ‘but I’d still like some hot milk. How about you?’

On top of whisky! But if it helped keep her at his side…‘I’d like that, shall I—?’

‘Come and help? No thanks! I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

He watched her walk along the corridor, her behind swaying seductively with each step that she took. She walked like a model, every inch of her alerting his senses to such a degree that he began to question the perverseness that had made him invite her into his sanctum. He wouldn’t be able to touch her, he knew that, there was a mile-wide gap between them that would be difficult, if not impossible, to bridge. Not in a few minutes, or even hours. Days, weeks maybe, but he wasn’t that patient.

To him it was simple. They resumed marital relations and the rest would follow. It was Megan who was making progress difficult, finding problems when there were none. He would never understand her.

In the five minutes it took her to heat milk and make their drinks he’d decided that they needed to have a real heart to heart. It was the only way they would be able to solve their problems. And probably now, in the middle of the night, was the very best time. No Charlotte to interrupt, no phone calls, nothing except the two of them—together.

Hunger for her crept through every one of his strong male veins. How he was going to sit there, knowing that she was as naked as the day she was born beneath her enchanting white nightie, laced from waist to throat with a Christmas-red ribbon, and do nothing about it he didn’t know. It would be the worst form of torture.

She returned with their drinks on a tray, together with a plate of home-made biscuits which he knew would choke him if he attempted to eat one. What he wanted to do was suck one of Megan’s nipples into his mouth. She always tasted so beautiful and reacted so wantonly. He wanted to suck and bite and tease until she was putty in his hands. He wanted to feel her softly scented body close to him, he wanted to mould her with his palms, feel every curve and contour; he wanted to touch her most intimate places, feel her moistness, make her as ready for him as he was for her.

But he knew he couldn’t.

She was out of bounds.

For the moment!

But soon…

Megan nibbled on a biscuit, sitting in the armchair opposite him where he couldn’t possibly touch her, but he could look…It was warm in the room. He had stoked up the fire and it burned brightly in the grate. Her purple dressing gown was undone, the ribbon on her nightdress beckoning his fingers to untie the bow and unlace it. Lord, he wanted to look at her—she was his wife, after all. Instead she was covered up as primly as a nun.

He picked up his mug of malted milk and cradled it in his palms. It was absolutely no compensation for her temptingly full breasts. He felt compelled to close his eyes so that he needn’t look at her.

‘Are you tired now? Shall I go?’

Her question had his lids jerking open. ‘Not at all. I was simply thinking.’

‘About what? Us?’

He shrugged. ‘Does it matter when you’re determined that—?’

‘I’m not determined about anything,’ she forestalled him.

‘I don’t see any sign of you wishing to kiss and make up.’

‘That’s because a lot of water’s gone under the bridge. Before we kiss we talk. We have to resolve our differences. It’s the only way.’

‘I’m trying.’

Megan raised her beautifully shaped brows. ‘You could have fooled me.’

Something red shot in front of his eyes and he was ready to blast. It was only with an extreme effort that he managed to exercise caution and say calmly, ‘Perhaps you’re not really looking. You have it so firmly fixed in your mind that I’m the baddie in all of this that you’re missing the improvements.’

‘Spell them out to me.’

He didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t the answer. ‘If you can’t see them then perhaps I’m wasting my time.’

‘I have noticed,’ she said with slow consideration, ‘that you don’t spend quite so much time at work. But I assumed it was because of the Christmas holidays. It doesn’t really prove anything.’

His breath whistled thinly through his teeth. ‘Did I ever take time off at Christmas?’ He couldn’t help the sharpness of his tone.

‘The first year we were married you did. We had a wonderful Christmas together.’ Her eyes lit up as she spoke and he saw a glimpse of the girl he had first met. The girl who had ensnared him in an invisible net that could never be broken. ‘But after that,’ she went on, ‘you only took Christmas Day off. Even then you were a grouch.’

That was because his mind was always connected to whatever money-spinning idea he was working on. Looking back, he could see that perhaps he had been a little unfair on Megan—but not as much as she was making out. ‘So surely you can see,’ he pointed out, his tone strong and firm, ‘that I’m doing my level best to spend more time with you.’

‘And how long will it last?’ she asked caustically.

‘With your co-operation, if you don’t constantly raise your hackles whenever I’m around, for ever.’ He saw the way her brows rose ever so slightly, the disbelief in her perfectly shaped grey eyes. ‘I’m serious. I want this to work, Megan. You are my whole life. Without you it has no meaning.’

Disbelief gave way to surprise, her eyes widening as they remained steadily on his. ‘You’ve never said anything like that before.’

‘I didn’t feel I had to. I thought you knew.’

‘I know nothing unless you tell me,’ she insisted.

Not that he loved her? How could that be? He didn’t find it easy to say the words, but surely she knew? Why else would he want her back? He took a long, slow drink from his mug, watching her over the rim as he did so. He could prove to her in bed exactly how much he loved her—if she would only let him. Dared he suggest it?

He didn’t think so.

She was just as likely to slap him across the face. But even that contact would be better than the distance that separated them. It felt like a mile instead of a couple of feet.

Megan sipped her milk too, avoiding his eyes, staring absently into the flickering flames of the fire. She looked so beautiful sitting there, the glow from the coals warming her face, softening the shadows. He could imagine her in just such a position breast-feeding her baby. He had missed that! He had missed everything to do with Charlotte’s birth and her first important years. He hadn’t seen her learn to walk or talk, her first teeth coming through, her first word—which might have been ‘Daddy’ if he’d been there! Instead she’d never known what it was like to have a father.

Bitterness crept in and he began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea to invite Megan to sit with him. He didn’t want a confrontation, but that was exactly how he felt. So much he had missed! And it was all her fault! He clattered his mug down on the table.

Megan followed suit. ‘I’m feeling sleepy now,’ she said, although he knew she was lying.

‘I think I might go to bed too,’ he declared. This wasn’t how he had wanted it to end but it looked as though he had no choice.

‘I’ll leave you to make sure the fire’s safe. Goodnight, Luigi.’

‘Goodnight, Megan.’

So formal! No kiss, no touch, no sign that they meant anything to each other, and yet he would stake everything he owned that her body craved his just as much as his did hers.

Perhaps he should kiss her, a gentle peck on the forehead, nothing more, just enough to let her know that he cared. But already it was too late; she had left the room and he could hear her running lightly up the stairs.

When he followed later his footsteps were much slower and heavier.