A Reputation to Uphold (19 page)

Cristo
, little wonder she hated lies. Couldn’t even speak them without blushing furiously. No doubt in remorse. How hard this past week must have been for her. Living and breathing untruths.

‘I am sure of it,
cara
. Your mother will know you did it out of love.’

Eyes glossed with grief, her gaze sought his. ‘You think so?’

Dante reached over and brushed the hair from her brow, stroked down her delicate jaw. ‘I know so.’

When she nuzzled into his hand he couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and kissed the pleat from her brow. ‘He let her down. He let you all down. But not through lack of love. He is not a strong man, Eva. Maybe it hurt him too much to see her that way. In so much pain.’

The thought of Eva in pain...

Maledizione
, when she’d told him. His insides had quaked with so much emotion he’d feared eruption but she wanted,
needed
his strength. So she would have it. Always.

‘It hurt me too,’ she said. ‘But did I leave?’

‘You are stronger than him. You handled your pain, your grief in different ways. You submerged yourself in the party scene. Perfect oblivion. Surrounded by people who couldn’t hurt you. Maybe that’s why you tried to sleep with Van Horn. You told me yourself you felt nothing, so there was no risk to your heart.’

Eyes wide, she blinked up at him. ‘You’re right, I did. I don’t even see those people any more.’

‘I remember so many things about your home. The love. Laughter.’ The claw of longing down his chest, one he stuffed down into the depths, knowing that life was not possible for him. ‘Keep the good memories in your heart,
cara
.’

Dante had no good memories of his childhood. He didn’t want that for her.

‘What do you remember about your home?’ she asked warily.

The pot crumpled in his hand, jaw locking tight while he pondered brushing her off.
Cristo
, was the woman telepathic? Now he remembered why he didn’t talk!

He didn’t want pity from her soft heart. But nor did he want her to back off from him.

Clearing his throat, he focused on the hazy line where the sea met the oncoming dawn in a soft wash of pink. ‘I remember nothing more than veering mood swings and broken vodka bottles,
cara
.’

Quiet descended and his fingers bleached white around the handle of his spoon, body braced for the onslaught of pity.

‘Oh. No wonder you snatched that wine bottle off me at my eighteenth birthday party.’ She nudged him lightly with her arm. ‘Your mum and my dad would’ve made a great pair.’

Then. Then he remembered exactly who he was talking to. Eva. Always thinking of others before herself. With a remarkable flair for knowing exactly how and when to lighten the mood.

He couldn’t help but return her small, knowing sassy smile. ‘A better choice than my father,’ he said. ‘He ruined her.’ Why had he never seen that before? When he knew Primo Vitale could strip self-respect with one acidic glance.

‘Maybe that’s where she buried her pain. In the bottom of a bottle,’ Eva said, her brow a deep V. ‘Do you think that’s why my dad’s drinking is worse than ever?’

‘I imagine he is not very proud of himself,
tesoro
. He has to live with such guilt. I noticed at the Gala he can barely look at you. He is ashamed.’

Her face scrunched in a pretty confusion. ‘You’re right. Here I’m having trouble forgiving him and he has to live with guilt every day. Oh, Dante, I wish I could help him.’

‘Already you have done so much for him,
cara
.’ For a long moment he thought of his mother’s tears. The gluttony of men, the binges. How furious and frustrated Dante had become that no matter what he said or did, he hadn’t been able to help her. Nothing he’d done was good enough. ‘He needs to find his own peace.’

It wasn’t until he felt Eva’s fingertips dust the back of his hand that he realised his entire body had seized. Their eyes caught...held. With a warmth, a connection he couldn’t grasp. One that shifted to a sensual bent to thicken the air. And Eva’s gaze dropped to his mouth as she shifted on her hip to face him. Her bare thigh nudging his. The hot friction spiking his pulse.

‘Can I try your Tiramisu?’

Dante licked the creamy dribble from the base of the spoon and raised it to her open mouth, the sight of which set fire to his veins. Her lush lips closed around the silver and Dante watched a droplet drizzle down the handle and plop upon the full curve of her left breast.

Evading the urge to lean forward and lick the sweetness from her skin, he wiped the glob with his thumb, raised it to her lips and watched her take the thick pad into her mouth to lick and suck as her pupils dilated.

Heat, swift and savage, flooded his veins, pooled at the base of his spine until his groin throbbed viciously. And the temptation to haul her in his lap and plunge into her hard and fast made his stomach quake. But her guard was low and this was his chance.

Fighting, fighting for control, he smudged his thumb over her full bottom lip...trailed it down the elegant sweep of her neck and slid a finger underneath one pure white bra strap. ‘Do you ever take it off?’

‘Sure I do,’ she said, tucking a long caramel lock around her ear with an unsteady hand. ‘In the shower.’

‘Tell me why. Why dislike something so beautiful?’

‘You mean apart from the fact they’re big enough to fill a billboard and create carnage in Piccadilly Circus?’

Dante took the hit, remembering his quip at the Gala.
Cristo
, he’d been furious with her for doing it. But clearly, ‘It bothered you.’

‘Of course it bothered me. But I did it as a favour to Breast Cancer United. Then, after the pile-up, the hype was just humiliating. But I don’t regret it. Apparently that ad raised millions in sponsors.’

‘
Sì
. I am not surprised.’ The thought of half the western world staring at seventy per cent of her breasts made the blood freeze in his veins. ‘But I think this is only half the truth.’ He knew it was. But he needed her to say it. To tell him. To trust him.

‘Honestly? I think it started with my mother. I remember certain things so vividly. Her operations, when she lost them. I’m not sure how to explain, but...I kept putting myself in her shoes. Some days I could almost feel her pain.’

‘Ah, Eva, you were so close to her, I am not surprised,
cara.
’

‘It made me wish I wasn’t a woman. And when...’ The smooth column of her throat convulsed as she ditched the carton on the table beside her before she turned back to him. ‘I’ve never spoken about this before, but I guess it’s only right that you know.’

Unease swirled behind his ribs—or was it undiluted dread?—and he pushed his spine into the soft padded back. Waiting.

‘A couple of years ago, I had a scare. I found a small lump. What with all the specialists and the tests and the biopsies and—’

‘Whoa,’ he said, holding up one hand while he flung his empty tub to the floor, arms aching to wrap her in his body. Except he doubted he would let go. Ever.

Strength—he needed to keep strong for her. ‘You were
alone
?’

‘Sure. I didn’t
need
anyone.’ Her slender throat convulsed. ‘Turns out it was benign, so just a scare, that’s all.’

Just
?

Cristo
, she must have been petrified. He could barely breathe thinking about it. And, knowing Eva, she’d have gone alone to protect Finn. To protect them all!

‘Anyway, the long and short of it is—’ she continued with bravado that belied the nervous flutter of her expressive hands ‘—I don’t like them being touched and this...’ she curled her fingers around the top edge of the lace cupping her left breast and tugged to reveal a white scar line about an inch long—a giant fist gripped his heart ‘...reminds me. So I always wear a bra and I suppose you could say it’s become a habit that I can’t shake. But, more recently, what with the fake kissing and the...sex...even when you look at me a certain way they feel different and I want you to touch me there, but it’s hard for me to let go. Relax.’

Dante set his jaw hard enough to crack a molar. Specialists. Tests. Biopsies. ‘So whenever you have been touched there, it has been impersonal, intrusive. Cold.’ He swallowed. Around a boulder. ‘Painful?’

Suddenly, he was staring at the top of her head as she watched her fingertips stroke the hem of her shorts. ‘A little.’

He closed his eyes for a beat. Her feelings made sense. If she’d never experienced any pleasure from them, why would she feel any different?

A vision popped into his mind, a place he’d never taken another living soul. ‘Have you brought a bikini with you?’ he asked.

Blinking, her face scrunched in confusion at the swift change in conversation. ‘Y-y-yes.’

‘Good. I want to show you something. Here comes the dawn—get ready and I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes.’

‘We’re going somewhere? But don’t you have to work?’

Dante switched off the incessant voices in his head. Yes, Vitale would always come first, but he hadn’t had one day off in fifteen years, so he was sure he could spare her one day for this. ‘Not today.’

A beautiful smile curved her lips and he was filled with the inexplicable urge to keep it there.

‘Come with me, Eva.
Per favore
. Let’s have some fun,
cara mia
.’ When was the last time she did that? When was the last time she shed the weight of an unknown future?

‘Always, your mother smiled, Eva. Smiled and said, “Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”’

CHAPTER TWELVE

L
IFE IS NOT
about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.

For the first time in years, Eva wanted to dance. Because Dante Vitale had actually taken a day off work. It boggled the mind. There was not one phone in this canoe. Although she doubted there was even room for one. Narrow and precarious didn’t begin to cover it.

But the distinct lack of cellphones wasn’t the reason a giddy swirl of exhilaration and anticipation hummed through her veins. Nope. It was because she was happy.
Keep the good memories in your heart, cara.
Just reliving the good times gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years. So alive, she wanted to have fun. Do crazy things.

Like allowing herself to imagine, after years of denying herself the luxury. To nurture the notion that there could be a life flickering inside her. To think about marrying Dante. Having him always. She wouldn’t be alone any more. She didn’t
want
to be alone any more.

After they’d made love last night, he’d kept touching her tummy as if he was envisaging. Already utterly convinced. And the gorgeous man had her doing the same. Dreaming up names and designing a christening gown. It was just absurd. Surreal. More than a little scary. Because she’d mooned over such things before. Could remember the bone-crushing pain of falling from magical clouds of happy ever after.
So don’t expect more from him than he can give...

‘
Love is for the weak and needy and I am neither.’

She just had to remember what they shared was passion. Lust that, when sated, he left to work or slip between his own cool sheets. In truth, making love was the only time she felt the power of his emotions. So, like an addict, she craved another fix. A higher dose of his lethal sexual dominance. Resistance was futile and she hated herself for the weakness.

Still, he’d taken a day off work for
her
and she wasn’t wasting a minute.

Dante powered the oars from behind and the canoe sliced through the water, heading for a towering rock face. On approach, Eva could see the rock open up into a jagged split and streams of excitement washed down her chest, percolating inside her as the split swallowed them whole, plunging them into darkness.

‘You still with me?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely. I love the dark.’

‘You will not like it so much when your head collides with a stalactite,
tesoro
,’ he said sardonically. Then his loud command, ‘Lights,’ echoed around her and the enormous cavern illuminated in a soft white glow, the lights flaring from the bottom of the lake.

Eyes adjusting, she inhaled sharply. ‘Oh,
wow
! It’s like something out of a fantasy. And those,’ she said, pointing at the elongated straw-like formations hanging from the ceiling, ‘look like crystals.’ Huge rare chandeliers. Millions of years in the making. ‘And the water,’ she said, ‘it’s like a clear azure lake.’

‘Duck.’

‘Really? In here?’

Dante burst out laughing, the sound rich and throaty, drenched in masculinity, sending hundreds of tiny tremors through her core.
Wow
. She’d never heard him laugh before.

His laugh went on even as he pushed her head down between her splayed legs. ‘Quit, Eva, unless you really want this boat to go over.’

‘
Boat
? You call this a boat?’

‘Right, that’s it. You asked for this.’

Before she knew what he was about, he leaned over, rocked once...twice and
splash
, over they went, headlong into the water. Water so warm her bones dissolved and she went lax, in no hurry to resurface.

Then the hot hands of the devil himself curled around her waist, gripping—protective, possessive, lifting....until the air smacked her face as she broke the surface.

Gasping, she rubbed the water from her eyes. ‘You’re a bad boy, Vitale.’

‘Enjoying yourself down there?’ Voice raspy, he exhaled raggedly and that touch of concern sprang her eyes wide.

Brow lined, Dante searched her face, stared at the pulse she could feel fluttering at the base of her throat. Then he squeezed her waist for one, two, three beats of her swelling heart.

It was silly, pointless, but Eva began to search right back. Looking for something, anything that told her he truly cared. About
her.
Because there were so many little things that could mean something but she’d been here before, hadn’t she? Misread every sign, every loaded glance. Searching. Hoping for more. Only to be crushed beyond repair. Ache until she could barely breathe.
So stop looking, Eva!