Читать книгу The Sheikh's Unwilling Wife - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 9

YOU didn’t have to be drowning for your life to flash before you. Nor to be sleeping to feel you had stumbled into a nightmare.

And this was her worst.

Alexa blinked her eyes rapidly, like someone emerging from the water—their vision blurred so that they couldn’t see clearly—and found herself thinking that maybe it wasn’t him. For a split second a fragment of optimism floated before her as she narrowed her eyes to watch the man who sauntered with such careless grace down the cobblestoned street. But hope died as he grew closer and she saw a group of women stop talking mid-sentence and turn their heads to follow his path.

He walked like the leader he undoubtedly was—a man born to money, as well as having made more than enough of his own. Tall and striking, he had crisp dark curls, hard black eyes and a proud and haughty look on a face which in repose looked faintly cruel.

His olive skin was dark—even for a Southern Italian—and a shamelessly exotic air had only added to his mystique in his native city of Naples. Glamorous mother; father unknown.

He was wearing a perfectly cut pale grey suit over a lean, hard body, and as he walked the women watching him almost melted on the spot. It would almost have been comic if it hadn’t made Alexa’s heart ache with a pain which should have disappeared a long time ago and yet deep, deep down was a feeling far more acute than pain.

Fear.

She licked her lips. Giovanni.

Giovanni—her husband.

Jealous, possessive, unrealistic, idealistic. Giovanni…

Silently she said the name she had tried to forget but never would—for how could she, when she was still tied to him by law, unresolved feelings and by something deeper still? Something so precious that if…if…

Alexa swallowed. Had he seen her? Her heart skipped a beat as that stupid hope flared into life once more. Did he know she was here?

But even before she met the ebony glitter of his eyes, training themselves on the shop window like a hunter’s gun, or watched him beginning to cross the road towards the building, she knew that it was a dumb question to ask.

Of course he knew she was here. Why else would the black-hearted millionaire be wandering down a quiet English road instead of swanning around his hot and noisy Naples in that sleek little sports car he used to drive, with all the men shouting Gio! and the girls smiling and swaying their hips as he passed?

What else did he know? Had he…found out?

Oh, please. The world began to blur again, and she clutched the flimsy piece of silk she was holding. Please don’t let him know.

Skin icing and heart beginning to pound, Alexa could feel the palms of her hands growing damp, and she put down the silk T-shirt she had been folding with shaking fingers. No wealthy customer would part with cash for an over-priced item if it was covered in splodges of her sweat. She licked her dry lips, telling herself it was insanity to try to second-guess the situation. Just see what he has to say and play it cool—surely you can do that, considering what’s at stake?

The shop door pinged, and she looked straight at him as he walked in, fixing a smile to her lips which she hoped was just the right mixture of formal politeness and mild curiosity. The kind of smile that any estranged wife would give to a husband who had given the dictionary a new definition for ‘unreasonable behaviour’.

‘H-hello, Giovanni,’ she said, but she heard her voice tremble, and he heard it too, for she saw the black eyes briefly narrow as he tried to interpret its origin. ‘This is a—’

‘What?’ he questioned, deadly as a snake.

‘Surprise.’ She swallowed, feeling her throat constrict on the word.

‘Ah! Such understatement, cara mia!’ he murmured ‘Did you really expect to go through the rest of your life without ever seeing me again?’

‘I hadn’t really given it much thought.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said softly, and his eyes flicked her a mocking look. Not think about him? The moon would fail to rise in the heavens before that should happen! ‘All women who have known me are obsessed with me—and in many ways you have known me better than most, for you are the only woman I ever married.’

But Giovanni knew that it had been more than just the legal tie of their marriage which made her knowledge of so unique—a marriage which had been far stronger and less easy to shrug off than he had anticipated. It was because Alexa had seen him with his guard down—she had witnessed Giovanni veering towards the vulnerable—and she had taught him a lesson that he should have known all along: women were never to be trusted.

Alexa’s fixed smile became a grotesque kind of grimace. ‘Did you…did you want to speak to me?’

Jet-black brows were raised in arrogant query. ‘The alternative being that I want you to sell me some women’s clothes—perhaps shopping here for one of my mistresses? What do you think?’

If only he knew! If only he had an inkling about the crazed thoughts which were swirling around in her mind like an out-of-control whirlwind. Because you know that what you have done to this man is wrong?

She willed the voice of her conscience to cease—dampening down its clamour with a reminder of the harsh and bitter words he had spoken to her. Everything she had done, she had done for a reason. ‘I can’t talk now. I’m working.’

‘So I see.’ He glanced around the shop’s interior, affecting interest—but in reality it was to allow the beating of his heart to steady. He was taken aback by its thunderous pounding—for he had underestimated her impact on his senses. Or maybe he had simply forgotten.

Hungrily, he let his eyes feast on her. Her bright hair was caught back in one of those severe French plaits you rarely saw these days, and she was wearing a black pencil skirt and white blouse—presumably some kind of uniform for working. Yet it didn’t look anything like a uniform when she was wearing it. With the slim skirt skimming the gentle curve of her hips and the silky shirt caressing the swell of her breasts, she looked like a favourite male fantasy—buttoned-up, yet red-hot and hungry underneath. Giovanni swallowed. Later.

‘Still a shop assistant?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘Isn’t this where you came in—unless you own the place, of course?’

‘No, I don’t own it.’

So there had been no sudden change in her fortunes. No lover to lavish his wealth on her, having been reeled in with that unique blend of supposedly innocent sensuality. Those pale green eyes which could range from serene to feisty and a hundred expressions in between. She had the kind of body you wanted to cover in diamonds—and then slowly remove them, one by one.

Had it surprised him that she had not approached him for a hefty divorce settlement? He supposed it had—but maybe her lawyers had advised her that a mere three-month marriage would not yield much in the way of alimony.

‘Hardly what you’d call rapid promotion, is it?’ he mused. ‘Shop assistant in some small backwater of a place you grew up in.’

How effortlessly fluent was his English—and how brutally accurate was his contempt for her situation! Alexa gave him a non-committal smile. ‘Well, we can’t all be captains of industry,’ she said quietly. ‘Listen, Giovanni—no one was ever going to be in any doubt that you were the achiever in our relationship, but I really don’t have time to stand around and chat.’ Especially about something as painful and as potentially explosive as their past.

He glanced around the empty shop. ‘But you don’t have any customers!’ he observed caustically. ‘If this were my place then I’d give it a dramatic overhaul.’

‘Well, fortunately for me, it isn’t. So what is it that you want, Giovanni?’ She blinked up at him, wondering if he could hear the slight crack of pain in her voice—because sometimes emotions just crept up on you, whether you liked it or not.

What if he had come to tell her that he wanted his freedom? That he had met someone new and fallen in love—only this time it was the real thing, not some youthful cocktail of lust and unrealistic expectations. ‘You can tell me quickly.’

Giovanni heard the note of hope in her voice and gave a slow smile. ‘You think I’ve travelled from Italy to tell you quickly?’ he echoed silkily.

He had her senses spinning and she wanted it to stop. She wanted the rapid hammering of her heart and the feeling of faintness to pass, along with the regret and all the other things he had stirred up inside her within the space of a few minutes.

Alexa drew a deep breath. ‘You should have warned me you were coming,’ she said, in a low voice. And how would she have reacted if he had? Run away until she was certain the coast was clear, taking Paolo with her? But you couldn’t keep running away all your life. Suddenly, an intimation of terror began to whisper its way over her skin. ‘You should have warned me,’ she repeated, more urgently now.

Giovanni looked at her trembling lips. Not for a moment had he thought she might have grown immune to him—but Alexa’s reaction was very interesting.

She was edgier than he might have expected in the circumstances. And why was that? he wondered. Because she’d realised what she had thrown away? Or because she wanted him to take her into his arms and kiss her—to press his hard heat against the pliant softness of her body and drive his throbbing hardness deep inside her until she begged for release?

Giovanni’s sensual lips curved into a cruel smile as he felt the rush of heat to his groin and the powerful beat of anticipation—yet he experienced slight dismay, too and the faint prickle of anger, because the feelings she provoked in him defied all logic.

Memories of betrayal and deceit washed over him when he looked at the pale oval of her face, and yet there was lust, too—a fierce sexual hunger which he had never completely satisfied. Surely that must account for the sudden strange lurching of his heart?

The agenda which had brought him here today was simple: the invitation burning a hole in his pocket and a desire that his wife accede to his wishes. And yet there had been curiosity, too. A sense of something never quite completed, nor put to rest—a question that everyone whose marriage had failed must ask: what if?

Giovanni’s mouth hardened. But that was pure unnecessary sentiment—and he was not a man given to sentiment. Putting that aside, he knew what he really wanted, and it was more than her agreement to accompany him on such an important occasion. Ah, si. He intended to have her one last time. He would feast on her body and take his fill from it—and then…He swallowed. Then that last lingering legacy from their ill-fated marriage would be satisfied and he could move on.

Inside the luxurious interior of the store, the lights shone down and transformed her hair into pure spun gold. Yet the light played tricks just as the heart did, for her hair was not really gold, but a strange colour somewhere between red and gold—the colour they called strawberry-blonde. Such a rare shade to adorn a head, and especially so in his native Southern Italy.

Her eyes were the fresh colour of pistachio and her skin looked like creamy vanilla. The first time he’d met her he had told her she looked like an ice cream sundae, and only just stopped himself from adding that he wanted to lick her all over. Much later he had teased her that he wanted to dip his spoon in her—and her corresponding blush had sealed her fate. His face darkened.

She was his.

Alexa.

Alexa O’Sullivan. A name as unusual as her hair, as her soft curving body, pale with silken skin. She looked as innocent now as she had done on the day they had met. But innocents did not lie, nor did they cheat.

He was prepared for the anger, but unprepared for the regret. That he had ever married her in the first place? Or that he had let her pale green eyes and berry-coloured lips lull him into believing a fantasy?

‘What time do you finish?’ he said softly.

For a moment Alexa hesitated, recognising that he wasn’t going to go away until he’d got what he came for, no matter how much she wanted him to. The most sensible thing would be to arrange to meet him for lunch the next day—which would give her time to compose herself, prepare herself for any verbal battle. But that would mean him hanging around—maybe even staying in one of the local hotels—and then what? Giovanni asking questions—smarming his way into the confidence of adoring women staff, or—worse—local people beginning to look closely at his stunningly dark Mediterranean looks and putting two and two together.

‘I finish at six,’ she said quickly.

‘Good. Good.’ Giovanni’s black eyes glittered with satisfaction. The first part of his mission was accomplished—the second would be to decide where to take her. A hotel? With the convenience of a bedroom within walking distance? Why not start as he meant to go on? Hunger curved the edges of his mouth into a hard smile. ‘I’ll pick you up here.’

‘No!’ The word flew out before she could stop it, but Alexa wanted neutral territory—a bland, safe environment. Though was anywhere really safe with Giovanni? Didn’t the power of his presence subtly dominate his surroundings, so that no matter where you were all you were aware of was him? She met his questioning stare. ‘My boss doesn’t like anyone else in the shop while I’m emptying the till,’ she babbled. ‘I have to look after the takings.’

‘I shouldn’t think there’ll be much in the way of takings, judging by the lack of customers,’ he observed sardonically, raising his eyebrows. ‘You will have to do better than that for an excuse, cara.’

It was arrogant of him to suppose that she needed an excuse not to talk to him—but then, his arrogance had never been in question. ‘I won’t be able to concentrate if you’re breathing down my neck.’

He smiled. Better. Much better. ‘No, I can see that might be a problem,’he agreed evenly. ‘So, where shall I see you?’

Alexa’s mind was racing. She would have to phone the childminder, of course, and arrange a later pick-up, but that should be okay.

She ran through all the possible venues to come up with the one where she was least likely to know anyone—but as a woman who rarely went out in the evenings she had a pretty big field to choose from. ‘Meet me in the Billowing Sail,’ she said. ‘Just after six. It’s a little pub, tucked away in the corner of the harbour.’

‘A pub?’ he echoed.

‘That’s right.’

‘But I don’t like pubs, Alexa,’ he said softly. ‘You know that.’

And she didn’t like being forced into a meeting with a man who could still turn her emotions upside down. He—like she—would just have to put up with it. ‘I’m afraid that pubs are part of English life—and none of the coffee shops will be open at six.’

‘Then let’s have dinner instead.’

‘D-dinner?’

‘The meal that people eat in the evenings,’he enlightened her sarcastically. ‘You know.’

Alexa felt her heart slam nervously against her ribcage. One thing she knew for sure—no way could she endure the forced intimacy of a restaurant, with its subdued lighting and leisurely service.

She shook her head. ‘No—not dinner.’

His black eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you don’t want dinner, you don’t eat dinner—or you’re having it with somebody else?’

For a second she was tempted to say yes—that the man of her dreams would be waiting at home for her, with a warm smile and an even warmer bed. Because most men would give up and go away if they thought she’d moved on and found herself another man. But Giovanni wasn’t most men, and his jealousy was legendary. It had helped destroy their relationship with its warped, dark poison—and Alexa didn’t think she could face seeing it activated now.

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not having dinner with someone else. But I’m tired,’ she said truthfully. ‘It’s been a long week, and I don’t imagine we’re going to have a lot to say to each other—certainly not enough to fill a whole meal-time. A quick drink should do it.’

For a minute their eyes met in a silent battle of wills, and he thought about trying to impose his on her—but wouldn’t that put her defences up? Alexa had something he wanted, and so for now he would play this her way. And besides, he would soon talk her out of her dismissive suggestion—or maybe kiss her out of it. His heart began to race in anticipation. A quick drink, indeed!

‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘I will see you in there, soon after six. Ciao, bella.’ And he turned his back on her and walked towards the door, seeming to take all the light and the colour with him as it shut behind him with a little pinging of the bell.

In a daze, Alexa watched him go, her knees feeling as if they were about to give way, scarcely able to believe that what she had most dreaded had just taken place.

Only it isn’t over yet. Not by a long way.

She turned round and reached for the box of tissues she kept beneath the counter, for customers to wipe off their lipstick before they slithered into costly items of clothing, and dabbed furiously at the tears which couldn’t seem to stop welling at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t even register that the shop door had opened again, and it wasn’t until she heard a voice behind her that she whirled round and saw her boss standing there—an elegant blonde in her fifties, a concerned look on her face.

‘Teri!’ she gasped. ‘I was miles away. I didn’t—’

‘I know you didn’t. That was your husband, wasn’t it?’ guessed Teri perceptively. ‘The Italian Stallion currently wowing the female population of Lymingham?’

Alexa nodded, trying to compose herself. ‘Ex-husband,’ she corrected, swallowing back the tears.

‘I didn’t think you were divorced?’

‘We’re not—officially—but divorce is just a piece of paper,’ said Alexa fiercely. ‘Just like marriage.’

‘You think so?’ questioned Teri wryly, and then a note of curiosity crept into her voice. ‘How come we’ve never seen him before?’

Alexa tensed. ‘Because he lives in Naples and I live here, and we don’t have a shared life together.’

‘That’s not what I mean, Lex,’ said Teri gently. ‘He’s Paolo’s father, isn’t he?’

There was a pause. It was just as Alexa had thought—the resemblance was as unmissable as a dark cloud suddenly obscuring the sun. The boy was a carbon copy of the man. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Teri’s eyes narrowed in a slowly dawning comprehension, and she raised the tips of her fingers to her mouth. ‘And he doesn’t know, does he?’

There was a terrible silence.

‘No.’

‘Oh, Alexa.’

But Alexa shook her head, remembering Giovanni’s bitter words. The torture of living with him once he’d decided she didn’t measure up to his exacting standards of what a woman should be. The accusation he had flung at her as she had left his house and his city and his life. And she remembered his immense wealth and determination. Oh, no. She would be a fool to start having some kind of euphoric recall about the man she had married—and an even bigger one to underestimate his power.

‘He would take him away from me if he knew,’ she said flatly. ‘And that’s the truth.’

‘But how…why?’ asked Teri in confusion. ‘I mean, how on earth has all this happened?’

How, indeed? Why did some people’s dreams get smashed to pieces while others merely faded away like the end of a film?

She could tell Teri that she had travelled to Naples and fallen in love with that vibrant, chaotic city which was flanked by Mount Vesuvius, the island of Capri and the crystal-blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Just as she had fallen in love with Giovanni—or thought she had. With his dark good looks and dangerous charm and his determination to possess her—yes, possess her—who could have resisted him?

Fresh out of university, and undecided about a future which had seemed to have a gaping hole in it since her mother had remarried and emigrated, Alexa had gone to Italy to brush up on a language at which she was already passably fluent.

It hadn’t taken her long to decide that Italian men were after one thing—easy, uncomplicated sex with women who were prepared to offer it to them on a plate. And Alexa hadn’t been. Her one foray into matters sensual had been enough to make her cautious—because the man to whom she had lost her virginity had had all the sensitivity of bull. But then she’d met Giovanni, and all her best intentions had flown out of the window.

Working in the air-conditioned splendour of the city’s biggest and plushest department store, Alexa had become a bit of a novelty. A foreigner who spoke cool and fluent Italian—and there certainly weren’t many English shop assistants in Naples! Customers had been charmed by her accent, and men in particular had come to purchase soft leather gloves from the pale-skinned creature with the green eyes and red-blonde hair and the pale, poised air. Sales had increased. She’d been given a raise and moved onto handbags.

And then one morning Giovanni had walked in, and everything had changed. In an instant she had become the victim of the feeling which had swamped over her—a feeling she’d never really believed in until it happened to her. But then no one ever did.

The world had stopped spinning, became suspended and frozen—and everything in it had blurred into insignificance except for the man who had sauntered in, seemingly oblivious of all the eyes upon him as he homed in on her like a moth to the flame. And Alexa had fallen in love.

She had not known that he owned the store, and several like it throughout Italy, or that he featured on all the Best-Dressed and Most Eligible lists—usually somewhere near the top. All she’d known was that he had eyes like ebony and skin which seemed especially dark—like sleek, polished wood—and that the suit he wore did little to conceal the hard, honed perfection of his body. Her mouth had dried, but she’d hidden it behind her polite shop assistant’s smile.

‘So, you are the woman who is causing all the excitement,’ he murmured.

Alexa glanced around the shop, taking deliberate note of all the women who were watching him, and she smiled as she answered him in Italian. ‘And you are the man who seems to be doing just the same!’

He was slightly taken back—as much by her retort as by her fluency. Giovanni had been told that she spoke his language, but he had not expected it to be so…so…perfect. ‘I have been told that you are very beautiful,’ he said huskily. ‘But words do not do you justice. I have never seen a mouth so begging to be kissed.’

Alexa’s eyes became shuttered. Because these were the kind of glib phrases she knew were meaningless. In the past weeks she had become a dab hand at spurning the advances of amorous men—though it had never seemed remotely difficult before. ‘Are you interested in buying a handbag, sir?’

Giovanni thought of a hundred ways he could react to her question. He could say yes, go through a flirtatious little pantomime of asking her advice and then buying the one she liked best—probably the most expensive one—and presenting it to her with a theatrical flourish before asking her out for dinner. But some cool reserve in the pale green eyes told him that this strategy would not get him the result he wanted. She was not flirting with him, he realised with a certain astonishment. Not flirting with him!

‘No, I am not interested in handbags. I am interested in showing you Naples.’

‘I have a map.’

‘And I have a car.’

Alexa glimmered him a smile. ‘I like to walk. But thank you all the same.’

‘I am used to getting my own way,’ he purred.

‘Then I have a feeling that this time you’re going to be disappointed.’

‘I am never disappointed when I set my heart on something.’

Alexa discovered that he was rich, and that he changed his women more often than his cars. She told herself that the best thing would be to avoid him—but Giovanni da Verrazzano laid siege to her, and the more she refused his invitations, the more ardent became his pursuit.

If she’d had been older and more experienced she would have realised that her unwillingness to go out with him was only increasing his determination, and his admiration. But she wasn’t doing it to play games. She was doing it because she was frightened of being hurt.

So that by the time she could refuse him no longer, and agreed to have a chaste lunch in a tiny restaurant scented with jasmine and overlooking the city, Giovanni had placed her on a pedestal as high as Vesuvius itself.

He swept her off her feet with a masterful arrogance which left her reeling—and yet it was his surprisingly tender restraint which ensnared her and fuelled the fires of a passion she hadn’t known she possessed. The almost reverential respect he showed for her determination not to fall into his bed meant that Alexa could relax.

For the first time in his life Giovanni listened to a woman, and talked with her—and it was a novel experience. She made him laugh—while he showed her that a sexy and virile man could have the soul of a poet.

He fell in love—was blown away by it—as innocent as a child beneath the onslaught of this powerful feeling. The cynical man of the world who had seen and done everything was as susceptible as the next when it came to the age-old vulnerability of the heart.

But nobody told them about brevity of the colpo di fulmine—the thunderbolt of love—which crashed into lives for such a brief moment before crashing out again. If anyone had tried, they’d have never believed them.

‘Marry me,’ he said one day.

Alexa’s heart lurched, and threatened to deafen her with its sudden wild pounding.

‘But—’

‘Marry me, Lex,’he said again—softly, sweetly—his lips brushing over hers in way which made her want to faint with pleasure.

Maybe it was madness, but in Giovanni Alexa saw her glorious future. He wanted to take care of her. Her beautiful, strong, old-fashioned Italian seemed to be the answer to something she hadn’t even been aware she was looking for.

So they married, in a ceremony which was intended to be simple—until Giovanni’s mother arrived back from a spending spree in Monte Carlo to turn it into something of a spectacle. But nothing could destroy Alexa’s slightly disbelieving pleasure in the unexpected twist her life had taken. It felt like a dream—it was a dream, she thought happily, forgetting that dreams didn’t stand up to the cold light of day.

And hers crumbled on their wedding night itself, when Giovanni made the discovery that his bright-haired and perfect bride was no virgin. He stilled, staring down at her in disbelief, words torn from his lips moments after he entered her.

‘There has been another?’

It was a question designed to break the bubble of her passion—though for a moment Alexa wasn’t quite sure she had heard properly. But then he repeated it—or rather, he shouted it—and the lovemaking which up until the moment of penetration had been like her wildest expectations come true—suddenly mushroomed into something else entirely. Something ugly. Something shameful. Giovanni’s face closed up—closing her out—but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He carried on moving inside her, and the only chink in his armour came in that brief moment when he lost control and cried out her name.

Afterwards, she lay back against the pillows, feeling as if he had ripped something from her heart and her soul, staring up in the moon-washed silence as his terse and furious interrogation began.

And the first night of their honeymoon was only the start of it—for his discovery had awakened the dark green serpent of a jealousy which up until that moment had lain dormant. Every move she made was watched; every statement she uttered was analysed. She had slept with five men, no—ten. Or was it more than that? And how many was she sleeping with now, other than him? She must tell him, for he needed to know!

Yet he seemed determined to give her satisfaction—almost as if he was demonstrating a master-class in sex. As if he wanted to show her how good it could be. And in some ways it was. In his arms, Alexa gasped out her pleasure time and time again, but the lack of emotion and the simmering anger on Giovanni’s face made her feel empty afterwards. Like a beach, when the tide had turned and flowed away.

It was a slow kind of torture, and Alexa lasted only three months of her doomed marriage. Then she had fled vowing never to revisit that black landscape of despair ever again—but she would never forget Giovanni’s snarled and angry words ringing in her ears.

At least we must give thanks that you aren’t pregnant—for how would we ever know the identity of the father?

Yes, the facts were simple—it was what lay behind them which was complex. She had been too young to know the difference between love and lust, or between protection and possession. She should have known something about Italian men—and Southern Italian men in particular—before she committed herself to marriage.

‘Are you going to tell him?’ asked Teri now, her concerned voice bringing Alexa back to the present. ‘That he has a son?’

Alexa wiped away the last tear and shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said, swallowing defiantly. ‘I can’t afford to.’