The Italian's Perfect Lover (5 page)

She turned on the torch and walked past him,
her bare arm accidentally touching his.

Her eyes flicked up to his in acknowledgement
of the mutual charge that had been ignited before she quickly
turned away. He followed her down the tunnel-like path, tamped down
by the team of archaeologists, but surrounded by the overgrown
trees and undergrowth of centuries of neglect.

She stopped abruptly at the edge of the
clearing and he looked around with interest. He remembered it as a
child. Despite the overgrown vegetation he’d managed to make a
tunnel through to a small part of the ruin. Not that he had been
interested in ancient ruins, only in getting out of trouble, of
hiding where no-one could find him.

“You know much about all this?”

Her voice was hushed, intimate, in the
secluded setting. They were in an enclosed area, surrounded by
overgrown shrubbery, and beyond, the dark hills encircled them in
absolute secrecy. The tone of her voice seemed to vibrate directly
to him across the paved surfaces of the Roman remains, sending a
flicker of sensation across his skin.

What was it about this woman that touched him
so? She was no seductress. With her large old-fashioned glasses
covering her face, her hair drawn back severely, and her boyish
shirt, shorts and sandals, she would have been invisible among the
crowds of tourists who flocked to Pompeii. He watched her turn in
the direction of the mosaic. The strong line of her determined
chin, a challenge; the full lips that lay lightly parted, an
invitation. She turned, obviously wondering why he did not reply.
He cleared his throat and stepped over to her.

“No. It was just a place where one could hide
from trouble. The cold marble under your body on a hot day, the
trees overhead: a good hiding place. I don’t even think my
grandparents were aware of it.”

She shone the torch on to a small part of the
unfinished mosaic depicting a goddess clothed in flowers and
gold.

“This is where the lady of the house would
have slept. Each of the rooms has a different character. This is
the real find. The Aphrodite Mosaic.” She approached it and touched
it with her fingertips, trailing them over the lumpy surface like a
lover. “Isn’t it wonderful? They’ve used all kinds of tesserae to
get the subtle colors and shades. It’s so delicate, so—.”

“Incomplete.”

She pursed her lips. “But it won’t be. It
might have been forgotten about in your parents’ and grandparents’
time but thanks to your nineteenth-century ancestors we’ve
discovered very fine, detailed drawings that show exactly how it
should look. Otherwise, I couldn’t do the work. I’m finding whole
sections that simply need to be carefully replaced. There are only
small parts that need to be filled up from the tiny pieces
scattered around here.” She stopped suddenly as if conscious that
her passion for her work was making her talk too much. “It will be
beautiful,” she added softly.

“It is beautiful,” he corrected. “It reminds
me of the Persephone Mosaic in Napoli for its delicacy.”

“We think it’s the same artist; must have
been Greek, around 200 BC.”

He whistled. “It’ll be valuable then.”

She looked up at him sharply. “Of course. It
will contribute so much to our knowledge of the period. And we can
keep it in situ, show people how it was used in context.” She shone
her light into an adjoining room. “And here, people at leisure,
theatre, sports. It all helps piece together the past of the people
who once lived here.”

“And there are other rooms, are there not? I
seem to remember as a boy, discovering a part of a wall mosaic that
proved particularly interesting to a young boy.” He took her hand
and tilted the flash light across to the other side of the dig,
beyond which a spring still bubbled, feeding the watercourse and
fountain. “Show me.”

“There’s plenty more to see here.” She
crouched on the floor. “Look at the—”

“Show me the bathhouse.”

She flashed a look of irritation over her
glasses. He could read her thoughts as if she’d said them
aloud.

Emily clamped her mouth shut. Trust a man to
be more interested in the “sex” mosaic as her team called it,
rather than in the subtle beauty of the Aphrodite Mosaic.

“Sure.”

She walked carefully across the dig, making
sure she didn’t disturb the current excavations until they came to
one large room. It stood central to the house—the remains of a
loggia revealed that it opened out onto the courtyard where the
fountains and gardens would have provided an appropriate aesthetic
backdrop to the sensual leisure activities of the masters and
mistresses.

She shone the torch on one of the central
pieces that had survived intact. It was even more graphic than the
couple making love that she’d been working on earlier. That at
least had been sensual, its artistry subtle and its colors muted.
It had been created for a woman’s pleasure in the lady’s
bedroom.

There was nothing subtle about the bathhouse
mosaic. Emily willed herself to keep the torch shining on the
tumble of naked women who were all over an overly endowed man. With
wild expressions, they pressed their naked bodies to his, while
others had turned to each other for satisfaction and yet others
laid siege to him with their mouths. This time it was the man who
looked directly to the viewer. But his face showed a satisfaction
that had little to do with sensuality; it was all about power.

“That’s what you wanted to see.”

“Yes.” He approached it, interested. “You’ve
done a lot of work to it. It’s much clearer now.” He stood back, as
if to appreciate it better.

“Yes, well…” She tried not to sound as
embarrassed as she felt. “I guess it would intrigue the adolescent
imagination.” She jerked her hand away from his, turning the light
on the ground on which they stood. The mosaic floor shone under its
beam revealing safe, geometric patterns.

Alessandro was irritated by her attitude.

“Not just the adolescent—it was meant to
entertain the people who came here for their leisure.” He couldn’t
resist stepping closer to her, pushing the boundaries of her
silence. “For sex.”

She stepped away and leant against a pillar
that had once led to the room. “Yes, of course. And it’s
beautifully executed.”

“You seem a little nervous.” He watched as
her hands absent-mindedly ran along the carvings on the surface of
the pillar. It seems that she’d temporarily forgotten that it, too,
depicted symbols that indicated the room’s use.

“No, just appreciating the finer points of
the mosaic.”

“I appreciate all the points of the mosaic.”
He looked around. The moon had just risen, making the flashlight
redundant. He leant over to her—sensing her stayed breath, her
response to him—took her hand and turned off the flashlight. “I
don’t think we need this now.”

He bent his head close to hers, enjoying the
sweetness of her breath against his mouth.

She swallowed. “So, have you seen
enough?”

He shook his head. “Not nearly enough.”

He should, but he couldn’t resist. That was
what his life was all about, wasn’t it? Pleasure. The moment. It
had served him well for five years. And would for another five,
regardless of what his departed father appeared to have had in
mind.

His eyes scanned her face, taking in the
blend of nerves and attraction in her eyes, despite the moon’s
silver sheen that bounced off her glasses.

He moved his finger around her wide
cheekbones and under her glasses.

“Why do you wear these?”

“Short sighted.”

“But there is nothing far away for you to see
here. There is just me.”

“And you need to keep far away.”

“Then why are you not moving back?”

She shook her head half-heartedly as if
confused.

He smiled as he felt, rather than saw, her
shift her face imperceptibly towards his.

To think that he’d anticipated being holed up
in this God-forsaken place with some dry, ancient academic. She was
his to take. He could see that any lingering resistance on her part
had evaporated. He could only imagine her body, readying itself for
him. He cupped the back of her head and gently brought her lips to
his own. Barely a flutter, barely a touch, before pulling away.

Hardly a kiss. Something he’d done thousands
of times before without a thought.

Perhaps it was the thin light of the moon
that drained the place of its reality; perhaps it was the scent of
her—no perfume, only herself—or perhaps he’d just grown tired.

Whatever, something was different.

He felt it viscerally. It was like the brief
twist of a kaleidoscope, imperceptibly moving, but changing
everything forever. The world had shifted and a different pattern
had emerged from its chaos.

But some things were still the same.

He still wanted her: charmed by her honesty,
seduced by her body, interested by her mind.

Except now, this woman had become something
more—something to be treasured.

He stepped back abruptly. He had no room in
his life—in his heart—for treasures. You took what you were given,
you developed, and you moved on. Taking the profits of the moment
and moving onto the next one.

No keepers. Ever.

He took another step back.

“Emily, we should go now. I’ve seen
enough.”

She nodded and looked down. Even with those
hideous glasses he could see the hurt and confusion that filled her
eyes before she dipped her head.

He’d done it. He’d seduced her—with a little
help from the ethereal ruins that surrounded them and the light
that bathed them both in a surreal glamour—he had her in the palm
of his hands.

But he didn’t want her now. She was too
dangerous.

She turned away from him—in defense he
knew—and he watched as she bent down, turned on the torch and
brushed off some dirt that had fallen onto the tesserae. With her
body in darkness and her strong profile clearly outlined by the
light, Alessandro felt her presence as if it were his own.

Aghast, he turned away and waited while she
scooped up a couple of stray trowels, took one last look around and
started walking carefully towards the pathway.

He followed silently.

Emily ignored the brush of creepers across
her face, pushing any that obstructed her path gently out of the
way with cool deliberation. There was to be no damage done to the
gardens—her dig had definite parameters, outside of which nothing
must be touched. These were the conditions of the dig.

Everything had its secrets that should not be
disturbed until it was time to reveal them. And so did
everyone.

So what were his secrets that made him change
so abruptly? Or perhaps he had none?

He’d regretted the kiss—that much was
obvious. Then what made him do it? She hadn’t asked for one, had
she? She wasn’t all dressed up in someone else’s clothes, trying to
look glamorous, trying to look seductive, was she?

She could feel the cold anger building by
increments, with each damning thought.

Perhaps he’d just lost interest. Perhaps it
had all been about the thrill of the chase. Well, the chase hadn’t
lasted long in her case—her defenses had been shot since the first
time she’d seen him.

But she was angry, because while he might
regret it, she couldn’t.

The night was hot and humid. It throbbed with
the hum and trill of insects, the whir of bat wings and the rustle
of night creatures. The sultry air seemed to clog in her throat.
She wanted to get out and fast.

She pressed on, shining the torch ahead of
them, keeping to the fragile path through the tangle of vegetation
that kept the dig hidden, keeping one step ahead of him, trying to
widen the gap but failing.

She had to get away. But she could hear him
moving behind her, she could sense his eyes upon her and all she
could do was pray that he would disappear as soon as she reached
the villa and leave her to her own thoughts and regrets.

They emerged abruptly into the pool of a gas
light that the staff had lit for her. She turned at the entrance
and faced him squarely.

“Goodnight. I won’t keep you from rushing
back to civilization. You know that I’m keeping to the terms of
your father’s will. I think that’s pretty much concludes our
business.”

“No, there’s something else. Go inside, I
will talk to you there.”

“No you won’t. I want a bath and then I want
to eat. And I want you to go—now.”

“We need to talk.”

“You might. But I don’t.”

She didn’t wait to listen or see his response
but entered the courtyard and walked quickly into the huge kitchen
where her dinner was laid out.

Her eyes narrowed. The table was set for
two.

She looked around to find Alessandro standing
at the door.

“As I said. We have things to discuss.”

“You’re playing games with me. I didn’t ask
for it and I don’t like it.”

He pulled out a chair for her to sit.

“Unfortunately for us both, it is not me
playing the games.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Don’t
mess with me, Conte di Montecorvio Rovella. You may have the grand
title but I can look after myself.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down, pouring
himself a glass of the chilled white wine. “I don’t doubt it. But
it won’t be necessary. And, please, call me Alessandro.’

“I’ll call you what the hell I like. Now, get
out.” She could barely stop herself from shaking.

“May I remind you that this is my home.” His
tone was calm, disinterested almost. It inflamed Emily’s temper
even further.

“Yes, but why would you stay here when you
have no interest in antiquities, no interest in me—which you’ve
made patently clear—or this estate.”

“You are wrong there.”

Emily swallowed. Could he really be still
interested in her?