The Italian's Love-Child (6 page)

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Beautiful. Do you always wear such exquisite lingerie? Did you wear it for me, Eve?’

She felt a feline glow of pleasure. ‘But of course.’ She tiptoed her fingers beneath his shirt and luxuriously began to trickle her fingers over the silken flesh, to alight on one small, hard nipple and to circle it.

He closed his eyes. ‘That’s good.’

His appreciation gave her the encouragement to begin to unbutton his shirt. She might not have done this for a long time, but she wasn’t a complete novice and she sighed with pleasure as, bit by bit, she bared his chest, then peeled his shirt off and dropped it on the floor. Then she dipped her head and gently bit on his nipple, and he groaned before shaking his head. He wanted her naked, and quickly.

Yet he had never felt quite so preoccupied while
undressing a woman, revelling in the sensation of laying her bare. He skimmed off the skirt, the stockings and the panties and then, finally, untied the pink ribbon which bound her hair in the plait.

‘Like unwrapping a birthday present,’ he said as the hair spilled down over her shoulders, all over her tiny breasts.

She kissed a nipple and felt him shudder. ‘When’s your birthday?’

‘August,’ he said distractedly as he kicked off his shoes and swiftly divested himself of the rest of his clothes.

August was months away, and fleetingly she found herself wondering whether they would still be lovers then, but at that moment he lay down on the bed and pulled her on top of him and their warm flesh mingled as he began to kiss her and Eve stopped thinking completely.

He touched her and kissed her with expert lips and fingers, which soon had her making tiny little yelps of disbelief that something could feel so good. But he did it with a certain sense of wonder, too, as if she were the first woman he had ever made love to, and fleetingly she found herself thinking that he had seduction honed to a fine and flattering art.

His eyes were glittering with hot, black fire as he moved above her and she felt strangely and inexplicably shy when at last he entered her with one long, silken thrust.

He wrapped a strand of her hair possessively around his finger as he felt her tighten around him. ‘Is that good?’

‘It’s…’ But then he moved and the words were forgotten, her nails digging into his shoulders and her
legs wrapping themselves sinuously around his back, pleased when he gave a low moan of pleasure.

‘And that?’

‘Yes!’

He moved inside her until she felt that she would die with the sheer pleasure of it, and when finally the slow stealth of pleasure exploded into unstoppable fulfillment she was taken aback by the sheer, devastating power of it. Her body continued to tremble as she felt him shudder helplessly in her arms.

They lay there for a while, sweat-sheened bodies locked in the trembling aftermath, until eventually he raised his dark head, kissed the tip of her nose and looked down at her, a rueful smile touching his mouth.

‘Well?’ he sighed.

She met his eyes. ‘Well?’

He laughed, and while the rich, warm sound made her feel safe, it also made her aware of her own insecurities. But that was what happened, wasn’t it? She didn’t know his sense of humour, or his favourite colour or even where he lived. You met a man and you began an affair with him, and there was always uncertainty about what the future would bring.

He kissed her, his body beginning to ache again and, instinctively, he moved once more, but Eve stilled him with a cautious finger to his lips. ‘Be careful.’

He understood immediately and slowly withdrew from her, and the regretful little sigh he made at leaving her made Eve lie back against the pillows, a contented smile of satisfaction on her face. She pillowed her head on her hands and her hair spilled over her like syrup.

‘Let me use the bathroom,’ he groaned as his eyes lingered on her rose and white nakedness. ‘Stay right there.’

Wild horses couldn’t have dragged her away. She wasn’t going anywhere, she could never imagine wanting to leave until she had to and she wasn’t even going to think about it. Dreamily, she gazed up at the high ceiling until Luca came back into the room and joined her on the bed.

‘You,’ he murmured, kissing her shoulder, ‘are amazing. Beautiful.’

She pulled him fiercely against her, and he entered her quickly, but the love he made to her was long and slow and indescribably sweet, and when it was over she snuggled against him, fighting sleep.

He shook her gently. ‘Don’t you have to catch a train?’ ‘No.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he murmured. ‘So the train was your escape route, was it, Eve?’ ‘Mmm.’ But now she had no desire to break free. She rested her head against his chest, but he reached over to lift his watch from the locker and gave her a brief smile.

‘Forgive me,
cara
.’ He yawned. ‘I must make one very, very quick phone call. Don’t go away.’

But the phone call brought her crashing back down to earth as she lay there and listened while he spoke in rapid Italian. God knew what he was saying or whom he was speaking to. It was only a little thing, but maybe it helped her not to start dreaming impossible dreams.

Luca had another life in another country and she was only a tiny part of it, and who knew for how long?

Maybe for no longer than the morning.

E
VE
opened her eyes and in the split-second moment between waking and sleeping she found herself wondering where she was. She saw the rooftops of a London skyline through the uncurtained window, and a man asleep on the bed beside her, and felt the warm laziness which bore testimony to a night of rapturous love-making.

Quietly, she turned her head to look at him. He was truly beautiful in sleep, the deep, regular breaths making his hair-roughened chest rise and fall. He was lying on his side, one hand cupping his face, the long lashes making two ebony arcs which contrasted against the olive-gold of his skin. He looked innocent and indolent.

Turning back to study the ceiling again, she let out a tiny sigh, satisfaction mingling with regret that the night was over.

She hadn’t been in this situation for a long, long time, and in fact she had never been in this particular situation, having shed all inhibitions and taken as a lover a man who was, to quote Luca’s own words, ‘nearly a stranger’.

In fact, she hadn’t been in a relationship for almost… She frowned, shocked to realise that it was almost two years. And that had been so different. A slow build-up to a romance that she had known from the beginning would end yet with this one she had absolutely no idea what her feelings were.

It was out of character for her—the cool, calm and considered Eve Peters—to have fallen into bed simply because she found him irresistible. But it must happen to him all the time, she thought.

‘So why the frown,
cara
? I thought I had kissed that goodbye, last night.’

She started. She had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t realised he was awake. The dark eyes were watchful and shuttered by the lashes, his long-limbed body as still as a tiger lying in the full heat of the sun. Outwardly, so relaxed, but with all that pent-up strength and power lurking just beneath the surface.

She affected a careless smile. ‘Was I?’

‘Mmm.’ Idly, he reached out and began to run his fingers through the rich satin of her hair. It had been an incredible night, but he had known it would be. He had been so hungry for her that it couldn’t have been anything else, but now with morning came a desire that was transmuted into a different feeling altogether, as inevitably as night followed day. Then it had been the excitement of the unknown and the undiscovered, the delicious anticipation of waiting to see if she would be his.

And now?

Now he was left with the familiar, and, no matter how wonderful it had been, there was a certain protocol to be followed. There were unspoken rules and he wondered if she understood them as well as he did. Rules about boundaries and expectations. He would not be owned. He had never been owned.

‘Come over here and kiss me,’ he murmured.

But Eve had seen something in his eyes which had made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickle
in apprehension. There was something very controlled about him this morning, no matter that she could see for herself the evidence that he wanted her very badly. Physically, in any case. But emotionally? Wasn’t there a cool kind of distance in the black eyes which were studying her as one would a horse that had not yet been broken? Waiting to see what she would do next, how she would react.

Was he frightened that she was going to come on all heavy? Afraid that she would become clingy or needy or demanding or any of the other things which women sometimes instinctively did when a man had possessed and pleasured them? Well, he need not worry!

She curved her mouth into a smile, so grateful then to the job which had allowed her to make a living out of hiding what was going on inside. Why, even after the death of her mother, she had been back in the studio within the month, her heart breaking inside and yet able to keep a calm and controlled exterior.

True, a couple of the regular and more perceptive viewers had written in to ask if she was okay, and on the editor’s advice she had mentioned the death. Which had led to a whole programme on bereavement, after she’d been flooded with letters from people who had gone through exactly the same thing and were anxious to share their experience and the strength which had grown from it. Television taught you lots about controlling your emotions; very early on she had discovered that the camera
could
lie.

‘Why don’t you come here and kiss me instead?’ she suggested.

He rolled towards her, a lazy smile on his lips. So she was not one who would festoon him with kisses
and tell him that he was the most marvelous lover she had ever had?

He lowered his mouth onto hers. ‘Like that?’

The sweet, aching beauty of that kiss threatened to take her breath away. Eve closed her eyes.

‘Exactly like that,’ she whispered huskily.

He made love to her for a long time, seeming to go out of his way to demonstrate his finesse as a lover, and twice she sobbed his name out loud. It had never been like this with a man. Never. But that was the kind of thing you should never admit to—especially to a man with an ego the size of Luca’s.

He relaxed as he noted her smile of dreamy contentment, smoothing a few stray strands of hair away from her damp forehead. ‘How long can you stay?’

‘I’ll go after lunch. When’s your flight back?’

‘At five.’ He very nearly offered to change it, but he smiled as he touched his lips to hers. It was a very clever woman who made no demands on a man—someone ought to tell them that that was what kept interest alive!

She didn’t leave until three and for the whole train journey home Eve was on a high. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed, her eyes bright and her hair very slightly mussed and she bore all the signs of a woman who had been very thoroughly made love to.

He was gorgeous. Utterly, utterly gorgeous, but she hadn’t been stupid enough to go all gooey-eyed on him. She recognised that he was that hard, rare breed of man who was essentially a loner, living life on his terms and his terms alone—and why shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that exactly how she lived her own life?

And as long as she remembered that, there was no
reason why they couldn’t have a wonderful and mutually fulfilling love affair.

The green fields rumbled by and she closed her eyes, recalling the lazy morning they had had, not getting out of bed until just after noon, and then strolling to a nearby pub for lunch, where Luca had been engaging and amusing company.

It would be all too easy to fall for him, hook, line and sinker, and she knew instinctively that she must be on her guard against losing her heart to him. She would play it slow and careful. He had told her that he would ring, and she would be very patient and wait.

Well, no—that wasn’t
quite
true. She wasn’t going to
wait
—for what use was a life spent waiting as if that were the only thing which mattered? She would live her normal life, she reasoned. She would be happy and fulfilled, and look forward to his phone call when it came.

Her state of euphoria lasted for precisely three days, by which time he hadn’t rung and Eve fell into the age-old trap of feeling insecure and stupid.

Why
had she launched straight into a love affair with him, when she had known nothing of his expectations of it, nor been given a chance to express her own? Though, how could she have done? Wouldn’t it have been the kiss of death to have quizzed him about what he wanted, or tell him what she wanted—especially when she didn’t know?

Why couldn’t she take it for what it was, and simply enjoy it? And maybe she could have done. If only he would phone.

It was nearly a week before she heard from him and when she picked up the receiver and heard his
drawled and sexy Italian accent, her instinct was to slam it right down again or demand to know why he had taken so long, though she suppressed it.

Instinct could be a very dangerous thing.

And besides, hadn’t just the sound of his voice sent her heart racing into overdrive?

‘Eve?’

‘Hello, Luca.’

So cool, he thought admiringly. She had been on his mind a lot. She knew his number, both at home and at the office and he had given her his mobile—but she had not contacted him, nor sent him a text message, which women invariably did.

In a way it had been a kind of test to see if she needed him, and now that she had proved she did not, he wanted to see her.

‘How are you?’

‘Oh, you know. Busy. What about you?’

‘I’ve been to Amalfi.’

‘That’s on the coast, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed it is. It’s where I keep my boat.’

‘And is it very beautiful?’

‘What, the boat or the coast?’

Eve laughed. Damn him! Laughter could be just
so-o-o
seductive! ‘Both.’

‘Both are indeed
very
beautiful, just like you.’ He paused. ‘I’ve missed you.’

Not so much you couldn’t pick the phone up, she thought, but the remark pleased her. ‘Good,’ she answered evenly. ‘It’s always nice to be missed.’

‘And have you missed me, too?’

‘Stop fishing for compliments!’

He laughed. ‘So when am I going to see you?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On whether we have corresponding free dates in our diaries.’

Even cooler! ‘You mean you wouldn’t cancel something if it meant seeing your Italian lover?’ he murmured.

Oh, the arrogance! ‘Certainly not,’ said Eve. ‘Would you?’

Curiously enough, he thought about jettisoning his proposed trip to the States, but for no more than a moment.

‘Probably not,’ he agreed, and then paused. ‘So when?’

‘Suggest some dates and I’ll see if I’m free.’

‘I have to go to New York next weekend—how about the weekend after that?’

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘Where? In London?’

‘Why don’t you fly out to Rome?’ he suggested casually.

Eve had never been to Rome before, and a city was never more beautiful than when you saw it through the eyes of someone who actually lived there. Luca on his home territory.

His penthouse apartment was on the Viale Trinita dei Monti, close to the Spanish Steps and it was to-die-for. Minimalist and modern—all stainless steel and frosted glass. The floors were mahogany and there was Carrara marble in the bathrooms. The rooms were almost all white, but the lights could be adjusted to create different colours and moods and the floor-to-ceiling windows showed the most amazing views over the city.

Outside was a terrace with tall terracotta pots with lemon trees growing and smaller ones with rosemary,
sage and lavender plants—so that the warm air was scented with their fragrance.

It was, thought Eve as she stood and looked at Rome, the apartment of a man with no ties, nor room for any.

He showed her colonnades and palaces and churches until she was dizzy with the splendour of it all and so he drove her out of the city to the picturesque town of Tivoli, perched on a steep slope amid pretty woods and streams.

‘This is just so beautiful,’ she murmured as she gazed across at the twisted silvery olive trees of the Sabine Hills.

He touched her hair. ‘So are you,’ he said softly, and took her back to his apartment, where he spent the rest of the afternoon making long, slow love to her.

That evening, in a restaurant off one of the narrow, cobbled streets of Trastevere, they ate the simple, delicious
tonnarelli cacio e pepe
by candlelight, and drank wine as rich as garnets.

They lingered over coffee and Eve felt utterly relaxed. ‘Tell me about your childhood,’ she said lazily. ‘Where were you born?’

‘I am a Roman,’ he said simply. ‘I was born here.’

‘And you never wanted to live anywhere else?’

He gave her a slightly mystified look and a very Latin shrug of his shoulders. ‘Why should I? Everything I want is here.’

It gave her an insight into his fierce love for his country, his city.

‘And your family? Where are they?’

‘My sister lives in Rome also. My parents are both dead.’

Eve dropped a lump of sugar into her espresso. ‘Mine are, too,’ she said, though she noticed he hadn’t asked.

‘Then we have much in common,’ he murmured, and his eyes glittered a sensual message all of their own. ‘Apart from the very obvious.’

It was a blatant, sexual boast and she supposed it should have pleased her, but oddly enough it made her feel insecure. Because surely sexual attraction was a very ephemeral thing?

‘Come, Eve.’ He signed the bill which the waiter had placed in front of him, and looked at her. ‘I think it is time to go home now, don’t you?’

But once they were back in the apartment, Luca rubbed a finger at the tiny crease between her brows. ‘Frowning, always frowning—ever since we left the restaurant! You know what happens when you frown?’ he teased. ‘Lines appear and there they stay, and no woman likes lines on her face.’

For some reason, the remark rankled. ‘And when lines do appear, then we magic them away with surgery, isn’t that right?’ she questioned acidly. ‘For while lines on a man’s face denote experience—on a woman’s they damn her with age!’

‘
Cara, cara
—that is your judgment, not mine. You work in an industry which is defined by age.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘And I am certainly not advocating the use of surgery!’

She thought that he wouldn’t have to. She turned to look out over the glittering lights of the city. Men like Luca prized beauty, and wasn’t youth synonymous with beauty? He would always have his pick of young, firm and unlined flesh.

‘Eve?’

His voice was deep and low and beguiling and she closed her eyes as he began to rub his fingertips over her shoulders, pulling her back into the hard, lean contours of his body. Why spoil this? she thought as his hands moved round to cup her breasts? ‘Mmm?’

‘You are angry now? Fiery?’

She laughed and turned to him, smoothing her hand down over the chiselled outline of his jaw. ‘Not angry, no, but fiery, yes.’ Her eyes glittered him a teasing provocation. ‘Always fiery.’

‘Then come here and show me,’ he breathed as he saw her mouth curve in a look of hunger. ‘Show me.’

‘Oh, I’ll show you all right,’ she said unsteadily as she began to unbutton his shirt.