Shadows of the Past (5 page)

A sensation that prickled like a warning crept through the short hairs at the back of his neck. It followed the thought,
would he ever get enough of her?

What the hell was the matter with him? He’d been given about two weeks out of his usual routine. Twelve days max to indulge in a lighthearted fling, with one of those days already struck off and another well on its way.

With a flick of his wrist he checked his watch, reading the time past the scratches on the glass. For all it was gold, its slightly battered condition usually raised a few eyebrows until he mentioned it had been his father’s. The nods of understanding this engendered always wanted to make him laugh. The timepiece wasn’t worn to remind him of his father, its job was to remind him not to follow in his footsteps.

His father had crossed the line for money, but Franc would far rather be an honest jerk than a dead one like his dad.

“Isn’t it a bit late to expect your parents to put up a stranger for the night.”

“You don’t know Mamma. For her, nothing is impossible. Please say you’ll stay, then I can call and tell her you’re bringing me home with a clear conscience.”

“Okay, I guess one night couldn’t hurt.”

Maria shrugged as she put down the receiver. Her mother had sounded odd when she asked if Franc could stay the night. The inquisition she’d expected had been glaring by its absence. Instead, she’d caught a hint of relief in the brisk no-nonsense acceptance that Maria was bringing a friend home—for the first time. Although, it might simply be gratitude that Papa wouldn’t have to drive all that way to fetch her.

“Point me in the direction of your bag and I’ll carry it out while you make sure the house is secure.”

“I was going to change first.”

His gaze traveled from the tips of her toes to her face, trailing a flush of color in its wake where the blood rushed under her skin. “I don’t see what’s wrong with what you’re wearing, but give me a whistle when you’re ready.”

This was the type of treatment her brothers dished out, they were as protective of her as Mamma and Papa. “If you insist, but my case really isn’t that heavy.”

The house was a Victorian villa with a shotgun hallway that ran from front to back. Like a lot of others on Northcote Point it had been built long before Auckland Harbour Bridge had been a twinkle in the designer’s eye. She dashed into her room, grabbed her clothes from the wardrobe then dived across the hall into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. It wasn’t that she had any reason not to trust Franc, quite the opposite. But the business with Randy had made her look at every man in a new light.

So, where were your senses this afternoon when you gave Tony a chance to paw you?

After changing with the speed of a catwalk model, she whistled for Franc as instructed and discovered he hadn’t gone far when he appeared almost immediately, striding down the hall as if he owned the place. Some men carried an aura with them that made them at home anywhere. She guessed Franc was one of them.

She pushed back her bedroom door and pointed. “That’s my case on the bed. As you can see it’s quite small.”

His eyebrows shaped a V above the high bridge of his nose. “Are you sure you could get everything you need in there? We won’t drive halfway and discover you’ve forgotten something vital that means we have to turn around and fetch it?”

Franc’s question was a big giveaway to the type of women
he
was used to dealing with. For sure they weren’t like her. If she forgot anything,
she
was the one who had to go back for it. “Don’t worry. I keep a lot of casual gear at home. Most of my clothes here are strictly for business.”

Franc’s breadth made the bedroom walls close in on her. It was hard to be nonchalant about his presence beside her bed when what she wanted to do was quickly dodge past him to check that the windows were locked. She flicked a sideways glance at him from under her lashes, but his attention wasn’t on her. Following his gaze, she was mortified to see a pale pink lace chemise hanging out of the top drawer of the dresser, next to the bed.

She was usually so tidy, tucking everything in place the way the nuns had taught her at boarding school. Franc’s presence in the house must have flustered her.

And now her secret was out. Compared to the rest of her everyday wardrobe, her lingerie was
hot.

It hadn’t seemed to matter that no one knew as it meant no one saw the scars her beautiful silk scanties were too small to hide.

Maria had been careful not to get into a situation that meant a man would expect to see her body, though the need to hide her scars hadn’t bothered her until now. Until Franc.

“Nice…” She heard the grin in his voice though his face never twitched.

She shaped her lips into a fierce grimace that only broadened his grin. “You never saw that,” she told him as she tucked the pink lace back where it belonged. “My mother would have a fit. She’s inclined to be old-fashioned.”

“When it comes to daughters, most mothers are,” he answered, yet his eyes said more. Touched more. He was doing it to her again, taking her libido on a journey it had never traversed before. Something shifted inside her, a need, a wanting, an ache.

She did her best to ignore it.

Franc studied her single bed as he picked up her case to leave. Neat and virginal, with family photographs on the nightstand; under its flower-sprigged quilt was hardly the place to conjure steamy dreams in the middle of the night. Unlike in his bed last night. Dreams stymied until he confronted Maria and his bed in one and the same place.

It didn’t seem to matter any longer that he’d first met her while she was looking for Randy. The last few hours made him certain that associating with Randy had done nothing to taint the innocence she exuded. How would it feel to have Maria surrender that innate innocence to him?

For Franc Jellic, it would be an unmistakable first.

Maria reached up to check the catch of the old-fashioned sash window closest to her bed. It was und

Newly formed ice, at odds with the temperature inside the room, slicked over her skin as she swiveled the small lever into place. Her gaze landed on the drawer she’d divested of its lacy adornment. She never treated her clothes that way or left her room untidy. Her training was too ingrained.

Her eyes searched the garden, focusing on the bushes Mimzie the cat had disturbed, unmoving now as if weighed down by the heat. Had someone been in her room? Randy?

Or was her imagination working overtime?

Wasn’t her journal farther over on the nightstand than she could easily reach from in bed? She grabbed it and put it in her purse. Hurrying to leave before Franc came back to look for her, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the room, remembering the position of every ornament, every picture frame.

No matter how terrifying the prospect, she just had to know if anyone came into her room and touched her things while she was away. Then, on an impulse, she turned back, reopening the drawer to scoop up an armful of silk and lace underwear. Quivering, she tossed every last piece into the laundry basket.

Whether anyone had gazed at her ultrafeminine garments with lust in their heart she had no way of knowing, but the thought of it made her wonder what would happen if she told Franc. Would he help her see that Randy Searle got what was coming to him?

Or would he put it down as a flight of her imagination.

As she locked the door behind her, she remembered the cat next door sidling out of the bushes between the two properties. She still had the feeling she wasn’t alone and she wasn’t thinking of Franc.

Her last thought as she slid into the passenger seat was a prayer that he wouldn’t follow her home.

T
he journey north hadn’t taken Franc as long as Maria predicted, and because of that, he’d stopped the car on the brow of a hill at a scenic outlook where Maria said the view of the coast was at its loveliest.

“I wish you could see the view properly. From this distance it’s muted around the edges, like an impressionist painting. I always think the best thing about going away is coming home again. How about you?”

“The view looks fine to me. As for going home, give me until tomorrow to see if that’s true. This is my first trip away from my new apartment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Maria turned to face him, and something like sympathy flashed across her perfect features. “Is that why you wanted to stay home for the holiday? How long have you lived at Birkenhead Point?”

“Three months. I haven’t done much to the place yet. I bought it as it stood along with most of the furniture.”

“So that’s why it looks…?” She’d braved the kitchen and dining room and lounge of Franc’s apartment while he grabbed an overnight bag.

“Don’t tell me it needs a woman’s touch. It was a woman who designed it. Once I’ve had time to collect a little clutter of my own it will look different.” Work wouldn’t always be this frantic. One day soon he’d be able to indulge in the things he’d never had, like good paintings and pieces of furniture to his own taste that would take away the blank-canvas effect.

“I wasn’t going to say that. But from the little I saw of the apartment when you picked up your gear, it didn’t reflect your personality. It lacks your warmth.”

He hadn’t expected her be so perceptive, not when he’d been doing his damnedest to make sure their relationship was about sex, sex and more sex. Getting to know Maria better bore some considerations that went beyond trying to get her into bed with him. “Dare I take that as a compliment?”

“That would depend on how you see yourself.”

This was a moment that called for a kiss. On the other hand, in his Porsche Boxter only a contortionist could achieve the desired effect with any elegance.

He settled for tucking a few errant strands of slippery black hair behind her ear. It gave him a better view of her profile, short nose, full lips and the small mole that drew attention to them. A slight movement toward him turned his gesture into a caress as his fingers grazed her cheek. He felt a short sharp jolt in his chest. Face on, her features became twice as heart stopping and he had to force his reply out of a larynx gone rusty. “Definitely a compliment then. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me too soon. If I know Mamma, she’ll want chapter and verse about you and your family. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warning heeded, but I doubt it’s necessary, I’ll only be there overnight.” No way could he tell Maria’s mother about Milo Jellic. Chances were if he did, his stay was likely to be of shorter duration. He’d learned that with some people of an older generation the sins of the fathers were still visited on their sons, especially with his father’s dubious history.

Bile spiked in his throat, taking him back to a past he’d thought was well and truly gone.

Abruptly he spun the wheel and pulled the car out onto the road. The sun had nearly finished its plunge into the hills behind them, and ahead scraps of pink reflection were strewn across the sea like silk banners.

With distance to add magic, house windows shone out of a denser patch of horizon, draping it with festive lights, a scene undiluted by knowing the truth. “I take it that’s Kawau Island?”

“Yes, it looks so different at this time of year. The population triples round the bays and inlets at Christmas. Home will be quiet in comparison. We ought to be there soon.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He was used to meeting strangers, selling himself and his ideas, that’s what had got him where he was today. What was wrong about spending one night out of a lifetime where, for a change, he had nothing to gain?

Except maybe their daughter? But then, he only wanted to borrow Maria, not keep her for good.

“How far to go now?” he asked as they sped down the hill and the lights on the horizon disappeared from view

“We’re almost there. Look, over to the left. Can you see the lights winking through the vines? That’s the southern edge of our boundary.”

The car headlights illuminated a two-story white house with a blue roof and matching shutters. Welcoming lights shone out from the front porch. Kids’ picture-book stuff. And he was the guy whizzing the princess home. What did that make him, white knight, or wizard with evil intentions?

Only time would tell.

Rosa congratulated herself that when Maria had called earlier, to ask if Franc could stay the night, she hadn’t let her excitement show. This was an event that required marking on the calendar after all these months; her daughter was bringing the man she was dating home. The mystery man she’d wanted to keep to herself for a while. She supposed she couldn’t blame her; the Costellos en masse might scare away a prospective suitor.

Instead of the multitude of questions Rosa had wanted to ask, she’d simply said, “Yes, yes, bring him with you, we’ll see you soon,” and hung up.

From the window, she watched the sports car negotiate the gravel driveway. With its top down she could see Maria’s friend was exactly as she’d described him all those months ago. The car’s momentum blew his dark hair back from his forehead, a strong wide forehead. He looked reliable, the kind of man who wouldn’t hurt her baby, she thought with relief. At last she and Papa could go ahead with their plans without worrying.

She’d probably taken her mother away from the stove. Mamma loved to cook and always overdid the food at the holiday season, but then that was Mamma.

Maria knew that when they got inside, the house would be filled with the delicious aromas of lemons, dried fruits and spices. And tomorrow morning, her sister and sisters-in-law would add to the feast till the house overflowed with people and food.

Mamma was out on the porch by the time they drew up. The shutters behind her had faded to a milky-blue and the wraparound porch was overgrown with jasmine, but Maria wouldn’t change a thing. That’s what made it home.

Franc helped her out of the car just as her mother made it to the steps. Tiny and plump, her dark hair liberally streaked with silver, it didn’t stop her from leaping down the steps like an eager teenager.

Maria knew what was coming of old.

From one step up, Mamma easily reached her face, running her hands over it, looking into her eyes. “You’re so pretty, but why don’t you get contacts and let people see your eyes properly?” Then before Maria could reply, she cut her off by asking, “Have you been eating properly? You look thinner.”

“Never miss a meal, Mamma. I’ve been working hard.”

She saw her mother look past her shoulder at Franc as he pulled their bags out of the trunk. “Playing hard too, maybe. You need your sleep.”

“I’m okay, Mamma, don’t worry. Come meet my friend.”

“Franc, I’d to meet my mother, Rosa Costello.” Maria pulled him over. “Mamma, this is Franc Jellic.”

Franc held out his hand. He had expected someone more like Maria, but this little woman had hands like quicksilver, and their movement added emphasis to every word she spoke.

Maria finished introducing him. “Franc’s family came here from Dalmatia.” It was as if by telling her mother this, she created a bond between them that Rosa would approve of.

“Great, this year we’ll have a United Nations. I expect you know Papa and I are from Italy, but did Maria tell you Kris, her brother-in-law, is German.”

Rosa smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling as she took his hand. “I’m happy to meet you, Franc.” Reaching up, she gave his cheek a gentle tap. “You be good to my girl.”

“Oh, Mamma.” Maria protested loudly, as if shocked.

Rosa just laughed. “Franc understands.”

“You could say I got the message.” Could this woman see right through him? He tightened his gut. What happened when he got inside, would they bring out the thumbscrews?

“See, I told you, he understands. I’m glad this daughter of mine has brought you to meet us at last. Welcome to our home.”

Franc darted a glance toward Maria, waiting for her to correct the misunderstanding. When she didn’t, he began to say, “No—”

“I know,” cut in Rosa. “No time. People in Auckland are always busy, but you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Come on inside and meet the others.” To Maria, she said, “Papa gave me a moment to have you to myself.”

“I bet he’s just keeping out of the way in case you start weeping all over us. He knows how sentimental you are at Christmas.” Maria stepped between them, slipping a hand through each of their arms, separating them as they climbed the steps to the porch.

Her mother chuckled, “No, if you hadn’t come—then I might have cried. The others can thank Franc that it won’t come down to that.”

Rosa leaned forward and looked at Franc. “Maria doesn’t come home often enough to suit me.” She looked him up and down and winked. “But I suppose I can’t blame her.”

Franc lifted an eyebrow at Maria for guidance.

She scrunched up her eyes and mouthed the word
wait
then turned to her mother. “You said others, who else is here?”

“Everyone. It’s a surprise, the whole family is here to spend Christmas together under one roof.”

Maria had a premonition of doom. No wonder her mother hadn’t been able to take the time to speak to her earlier. She wondered who’d be sleeping on the couch, her or Franc. But her mother hadn’t finished. “I’ve put you two in the small rooms at the end of the house.”

She looked at Franc again as if measuring him up. “Only single beds, I’m afraid, and the connecting bathroom is tiny, but I’m sure you’ll manage. The children can all squeeze into one room for a change. I expect they’ll like that better anyhow. I just hope we can put up with the noise.” She chuckled. “This is going to be a wonderful Christmas.”

For years after her abduction, her family had kept her close, their way of protecting her from the big bad world. Now, her mother had done an about-face with a vengeance.

What really bothered her was Mamma’s willingness to throw her into the arms of the first man Maria had ever brought home.

For the moment, all she could do was go with the flow and explain to Franc later. She squeezed his arm as they entered the large sitting room. “I’ll explain after,” she whispered, hoping Franc got her message and that his sense of humor was in line with her own.

The moment he entered the sitting room Franc realized he was outnumbered. The words
enemy territory
flashed before his eyes.

The huge sitting room ran the full width of the house and was practically bursting at the seams, adults, kids…cats. In self-defense, he bent to pick up the cat, giving his hands something else to do other than drag Maria out of there and back into his own comfort zone.

As his brain worked on his problem, he counted six children, my God,
six,
and five adults, not including the three of them entering the room.

Everyone talked at once, and the snatches of conversation he managed to pick up made no sense. Rosa brought a tall slim man with dark thinning hair, who, from the looks of him, couldn’t be anyone other than Maria’s father. Franc let the cat spring to the floor as everyone stopped talking. And stared at him. Now he understood what it meant to be put under a microscope.

“Franc, this is Pietro, Maria’s father.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Franc heard a clang of metal gates shutting behind him. Trapped.

Everything in the room, the people, the atmosphere, all the kids, were perfect reminders of why he didn’t do the family thing. The urge to run a finger round inside his collar made his hand itch, but he kept it clamped by his side. It was all too much like sitcom material.

Pietro clasped his hand, shaking it heartily, with a hand that was as tanned as his face. His dark eyes creased into a hundred lines as his laughter kept time with the energetic pumping of hands. Hard calluses bit into Franc’s knuckles. Lean and sinewy, like the hands of a man who had worked hard all his life, they carried as little meat as the rest of the older guy’s body.

“Welcome. We thought Maria was never going to let us meet you. And tonight is the ideal time.”

There it was again. The family had him confused with someone else. Randy maybe, though that thought stung in spades.

Why didn’t Maria just come right out and tell them? Set them straight, for Pete’s sake?

He glanced at her; she shook her head, and left him none the wiser. He read embarrassment, and maybe a little confusion in her expression at her father’s effusive welcome.

As Pietro let go, Franc reached out for Maria, meshing his fingers with hers. For a couple of seconds he rubbed both sets of knuckles against his thigh on the off chance it would relieve the tension gripping him.

A damn futile course of action as it turned out. How could he have known it felt the natural thing to do, as if they often communicated this way?

His heart turned traitor, thudding against his breastbone as he found himself wishing it wasn’t a lie.

Escape.

A wiser man would have turned on his tail and run. Franc caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth as if grounding himself in the present instead of cloud cuckoo land where all this junk was happening to him. “So? Apart from Christmas, what’s so special about this evening?” Franc asked, before realizing he might have left himself open to some crazy suggestion.

Laughingly, Pietro slapped him on the shoulder. “You will find out soon, we’ve been waiting for you both to arrive. But first…” He turned to Maria. “Introduce Franc to the rest of the family while I open some wine.”

Then he turned to Rosa, saying, “Wineglasses, Mamma.”

Maria squeezed Franc’s fingers, stopping him voicing the question at the forefront of his mind. “Don’t let this lot scare you off, Franc. They can be a bit overpowering at first.”