The Good, the Bad and the Wild (18 page)

The woman was driving him mad. He’d never been particularly good at deferred gratification. And he was getting less so every second he spent in her company. Even now he could taste the sultry scent of her arousal, hear her shocked gasp as he circled the stiff nub of her clitoris.

The blood pumped into his groin. His teeth clenched and his back muscles knotted as he spent several fraught moments contemplating the quick journey from his balcony into her bedroom—and the feel of soft, slick skin, dewy with need.

Damn it, Delisantro, get a grip. You’re worse than Leonardo
.

The repulsive thought doused the fire like a bucket of icy water. He sucked in a breath, pushed out another, thrust shaking fingers through his hair, and shoved away from the balcony to head back into the bedroom. Sick loathing made his stomach muscles clench when he spotted Leonardo’s journal on the coffee table.

Stop torturing yourself
.

Stretching out on the bed, he punched the pillows into submission and switched off the bedside
lamp. He had no connection to Leonardo. So what if he looked like the guy? He had more than enough sins of his own to deal with, without shouldering the blame for someone else’s.

Folding his hands behind his head, he watched the moonlight cast eerie shadows in the velvet canopy above his head and waited for the nausea to go the hell away. The light citrus-scented breeze gradually cooled the sweat on his brow and replaced the acrid taste in his mouth, bringing with it comforting memories of Eva. And her nutty insistence that he was a nice guy.

Welcome heat curled in his abdomen.

No, he wasn’t a nice guy. Or a particularly patient one. But he’d proved that he could be decent, or decent enough, by giving her some time to realise he wasn’t one of her storybook heroes.

That said, he wasn’t a masochist—which meant he’d be doing his very best tomorrow to ensure he didn’t have to spend any more nights alone with only Leonardo’s creepy journal for company.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘Y
OUR
mind is elsewhere today, Niccolo?’

Nick glanced up from his lunch, to find Don Vincenzo’s astute gaze steady on his. He sighed inwardly. He’d stopped bothering to correct the old guy about his name yesterday, when he’d figured out the man was as stubborn as he was. And yeah, he was a little preoccupied all right.

He hadn’t expected Eva to be gone this morning before he’d woken up. He also hadn’t expected her to sneak off to the lawyers’ offices in Milan without bothering to mention it to him. But worse had been the panic that had skittered up his spine when he’d found her room empty at ten o’clock and figured she’d run off back to London. He’d felt pretty stupid about that when Eduardo had told him the truth. But that hadn’t stopped him sulking for a while, and then watching the clock all morning waiting for her to return.

Make that a lot preoccupied.

But he wasn’t about to talk to an octogenarian
he barely knew about the dismal state of his sex life.

‘I guess I’m still jet-lagged,’ he muttered.

Don Vincenzo nodded, as if digesting the information, then said: ‘Eva tells me you have read my son’s journal.’

Nick put down his fork. ‘Yeah. Some of it.’ Where was this headed? Because talking about Leonardo’s journal was even less appealing than talking about Eva’s disappearing act.

‘So now you know—’ Don Vincenzo’s hand shook as he laid his napkin on the table ‘—that I raised a vain, self-absorbed man, who preyed on women simply because he could.’

Nick hitched a shoulder. ‘I guess,’ he said, wishing he couldn’t see the pain in the old man’s eyes.

‘I owe you an apology, Niccolo, on behalf of the Alegria family.’

Nick stiffened. ‘It’s not your job to apologise for what he did.’

‘I was his father, I should have—’

‘And anyway, I don’t need an apology.’ Nick interrupted, hoping like hell to put an end to the conversation. ‘I did okay.’

He hadn’t wanted to like Don Vincenzo. Hadn’t wanted to feel anything for the old man at all. But it was proving next to impossible not to.

He knew what the old guy wanted. Had figured it out yesterday as Don Vincenzo had
squired Eva and him round his properties in the picturesque town of Riva del Garda and spoken with pride and hope thickening his voice about the estates and businesses he owned in Tuscany.

Don Vincenzo was looking for someone who would care about the Alegria legacy and the various properties and businesses he had nurtured and watched grow for the last forty years. But more than that, the old man wanted a grandson who would love and respect him, to replace the son who never had.

And Nick simply wasn’t that guy. His life was in San Francisco, where he wrote about the dark underbelly of urban life, because he’d once been a part of it himself. He didn’t know the first thing about managing a business, or the day-to-day running of an ancestral estate. And he didn’t do love and respect either. He didn’t want to be a part of Don Vincenzo’s family, because he hadn’t shared that connection with anyone. Not since he’d been a kid. And look what a staggering success he’d made of that.

‘How can you say that?’ Vincenzo asked dispassionately. ‘When you ran away from home?’

Nick flinched. ‘How do you know about that?’ he asked, but he could already guess. Don Vincenzo was a shrewd businessman, of course he would have had him investigated.

Don Vincenzo bowed his head. ‘When Henry Crenshawe informed me of your name, I endeavoured to find out all I could about you.’
Anger flashed in Vincenzo’s eyes. ‘Why did you run? Did Delisantro reject you after he found out you were not of his blood?’

‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ A shame Nick thought he’d buried years ago lurched back to life. ‘Carmine Delisantro was a good man and a great dad, but when I found out about…’ He paused. Why couldn’t he say Leonardo’s name? ‘I rejected Carmine, not the other way around. So if anyone needs to apologise it’s me.’

‘You were a boy.’ Vincenzo sighed. ‘No child should have to find out what you did. If the man who raised you was as good a man as you say, I’m sure he forgave you.’

‘He did.’ To his horror, Nick felt his voice crack. He stared at his plate, recognising the grinding pain in his stomach for what it was. Guilt.

Carmine Delisantro had forgiven him all right, and he’d carried on loving Nick right up until his dying day. But Nick had been too much of a coward to admit he felt the same. So what did that say about him?

Don Vincenzo’s hand covered the fist Nick had on the table. ‘I will be travelling to Milan tomorrow to change my will. As you know, to my great regret I cannot pass the title to you, because you are not a legitimate heir.’

‘There’s nothing to regret. I don’t want the title.’ Nick’s fingers released and the grinding pain began to dim. Thank goodness, the old guy
had finally realised Nick wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s grandson.

‘Very well, then.’ Vincenzo patted the back of his hand and sent him an easy smile. ‘I have a second cousin in Palermo who shall become the sixteenth Duca D’Alegria.’ The man’s lips quirked in a benevolent smile. He gave the ornate dining room a quick survey before his gaze fixed back on Nick. ‘But to you, Niccolo Carmine Delisantro, I shall take great pleasure in leaving the rest of my estate and the Alegria Palazzo.’

‘What?’ Nick’s shoulder muscles spasmed as he leapt out of his chair. ‘Why would you do that? You don’t even know me. I told you I don’t want—’

‘Sit down, Niccolo, and stop panicking.’ To Nick’s astonishment the old man simply laughed, the sound gruff and genuinely amused. ‘My doctors tell me I have a few years yet before you need worry about receiving this gift.’

‘But damn it, I don’t want your gift.’ He slapped his palms on the table, rattling the plates. ‘And I sure as hell don’t deserve it.’ The thought terrified him. Not just the responsibility he would have to maintain the land, to manage the staff and the property and the businesses, but also the connection, the debt he would owe to the man.

Instead of looking appalled, or even annoyed by Nick’s outburst, Vincenzo cocked his head
to one side, his oddly penetrating gaze disturbing Nick even more. ‘Why would you think you don’t deserve it?’

‘Forget it,’ Nick replied, the panic starting to choke him. He didn’t have to explain himself to Don Vincenzo or anyone else. He’d made his own life, free of family, free of emotional ties and that was the way he intended to keep it. ‘I don’t want this inheritance. And you can’t make me take it,’ he said, slinging his napkin on the table and turning to leave.

‘We shall talk of this later, when you have calmed down…’

The buzzing in Nick’s head drowned out the rest of Don Vincenzo’s words as he strode across the room, desperate to escape from the misguided hope and affection in the old man’s eyes.

He knew he sounded like an ungrateful kid, the same ungrateful kid who had once thrown everything away that mattered because of pride and temper and stupidity. But so what? The past was gone. He couldn’t go back and change it. Any more than he could change who he had become.

He raised his eyes from the floor and stopped dead at the sight of Eva standing in the doorway, her hands covering her mouth, her blue eyes round with sympathy.

The silk-papered walls of the elegant parlour rushed towards him.

How much had she heard?

His vision dimmed, the sudden claustrophobia forcing him to move.

‘Nick, are you all right?’ she whispered, reaching out.

‘I’m fine.’ He shrugged off her fingertips as he strode past her, through the palazzo’s marble lobby and straight out of the entrance doors. The burning heat of the afternoon sun did nothing to dispel the shocking chill creeping into his bones.

He was running away all over again.

But he had to get out of here, get away from his grandfather’s misguided trust—and the sparkle of distress on Eva’s lashes.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘N
ICK
, come back.’ Eva rushed down the steps of the palazzo after Nick’s retreating back. Kicking off her heeled sandals, she left them on the hot stones and ran barefoot, desperate to catch him as he headed towards the dock at the end of the waterfront.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Hadn’t meant to listen in to what was clearly a private conversation. But when she’d entered the pleasantly cool lobby after her exhausting trip to Milan, she’d been flushed with pleasure at the sound of the muted voices coming from the dining salon. How wonderful to hear Nick finally conversing with his grandfather in full sentences. But then she’d stood in the doorway, heard the raw emotion in Nick’s voice, had actually registered the words—and been stunned into silence.

Why was he so angry and upset at the thought of inheriting the Alegria estate? And why would he think he didn’t deserve it?

The crippling sense of responsibility had hit
her first. Nick had come to Italy to help her get her job back. But that had been swiftly followed by the desire to soothe the hurt and panic she had seen in his face.

He’d looked stunned and had clearly been horrified she had witnessed his outburst. But how could she ignore his pain and confusion now she had?

Seeing him step onto the cherry-red power cruiser moored at the end of the dock, she picked up the hem of her skirt and ran down the worn wooden boards.

She could help, but only if she caught up with him.

‘Nick, hang on.’ She skidded to a halt on the dock, panting as the duca’s dock keeper released the thin nylon line mooring the cruiser to the quay. ‘Where are you going?’

‘For a ride.’ He caught the line the dock keeper threw across. ‘Alone.’

After sending a perfunctory salute to the man beside her, and tying off the line, he crossed the boat’s deck and leapt up the steps to the pilot’s cabin.

The powerful boat kicked to life, water churning as it glided away from the dock. Without taking time to think about it, Eva took two steps back, and then ran at full pelt, squeezed her eyes shut and launched herself off the dock and into mid-air.

The soles of her feet slapping on the deck
were accompanied by the alarmed shout of the dock keeper. She pitched onto her knees then grabbed onto the handrail, her knuckles whitening as the boat lurched forward.

Okay, that wasn’t the most graceful thing she’d ever done, but at least she hadn’t drowned.

Fighting the sway of the boat as it rode the swell, she clambered up the steps to the cabin.

Nick glanced at her, a dark scowl on his face as he swung the boat’s steering wheel into a turn to direct the boat onto the open lake. ‘You little fool, you could have hurt yourself.’

‘You could have waited for me,’ she said, unperturbed by his reprimand, and perched on the leather bench seat behind him.

With his legs akimbo, his T-shirt moulded to his muscular chest and his caramel brown hair whipping about his head he looked savage and uncivilised. Like a pirate captain at the bow of his ship, ready to maraud and pillage anything that took his fancy.