The Italian's Perfect Lover (9 page)

“My pleasure.”

“And mine.” She lowered her eyelashes,
surreptitiously eyeing her shoes briefly before looking up at him,
attitude firmly in place once more. “But you really didn’t need me
there, did you? You knew exactly what you wanted and it wouldn’t
have mattered if I said ‘no’.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Didn’t see the point of trying to stop an
Italian in full flight. Pointless exercise.”

“But you like the clothes.”

She brushed her hand down the silky fabric of
the dress and wriggled her feet back into the shoes again. “They
are gorgeous. But I would never have picked them for me in a
million years.”

“Because you have no taste. But, admit it,
you enjoyed shopping didn’t you?”

She assumed an expression of mock
seriousness. “I will never admit that. It would be bad for my
reputation.”

“I’d like to hear more about your
reputation.”

“Well, I’m thorough and know my stuff but it
isn’t that that earned me my reputation as a scholar.

“Then what was it?”

“Imagination. You had to have imagination. To
make the links, you see.”

“I like imagination in a woman.” He sipped
his wine and looked lazily over the table at Emily. “And
thoroughness. Si. A good combination.”

Her eyes slid from his gaze and she could
feel a wave of heat, that had nothing to do with the hot sun, rise
through her body.

In an effort to divert her thoughts she took
a mouthful of the freshly-caught lavarelli served in an exquisitely
green, piquant sauce.

“It’s good?” Alessandro still hadn’t eaten
anything.

“Yes, you should try it.”

“It’s more fun watching you eat.”

She let her fork drop with a clatter on to
the plate. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“Come. Don’t let an audience put you
off.”

“No. It’s your clothes I blame because you
can practically see what I ate for breakfast. Look at this.” She
sucked in her tummy and ran her hands around her hips where the
fabric draped seductively. She forgot that the pulling in of her
stomach made her breasts push out even further.

“Umm. I’m looking.”

She looked up at him and caught him grinning
as his gaze lingered on her cleavage.

“Very, very bad news. Have I told you
that?”

He laughed. “Then why are you here with
me?”

“I don’t know.” She put down her glass of
wine. “I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

“And have you come up with any answers?”

“No, only another question. Why did you ask
me to come with you? You could be with anyone.”

He shook his head in confusion. “I don’t
understand you. Why do you think so little of yourself that you
would doubt I would want to be with you? You’re beautiful. I’ve
never met anyone like you before. You are your own person:
strong-willed, you know who you are. That, Emily, is incredibly
sexy.”

“Then you’re the first to notice,” she
muttered in embarrassment.

“Your English boyfriends must have been
blind.”

She didn’t like to correct the plural. She
didn’t like him talking about her romantic past at all. Not that
there had been much romance.

“So, you? You’ve always been surrounded by
women who don’t know who they are? They must be easy to
confuse.”

He put his head to one side and narrowed his
eyes. “How so?”

“All you need to say is: ‘who are you?’ Got
them in one.”

He laughed. “And your sense of humor, for
another. Very rare in my circles.”

“Circles are bad. Just make you go round and
round. Just as well your father set you on a different
trajectory.”

“It set me on course to you.”

All amusement had vanished, replaced by a
quiet tension in his voice and a darkening of his eyes that sent
shivers down her spine. It told of a strength of feeling that
simmered beneath the surface, out of sight, but powerful
nevertheless.

Emily gulped her wine down and stared across
the lake to the wooded hills beyond.

“Alessandro. Stop it.”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“It’s because I want to kiss you.”

She swallowed and could feel his eyes
watching every shift of her throat.

“What’s your favorite music?”

“What?”

“I’m trying to distract you. Your favorite
music.”

“If you must know, I love all good music:
classical, jazz—”

She caught his eyes. “Civilized, laid
back.”

“OK, what’s your favorite type of music?”

“Country and Western.”

He laughed. “Of course. It’s the stories you
like.”

“You got it.”

He sat forward and picked up his cutlery.
“So, if I promise not to flirt with you during the serious business
of eating, will you eat also?”

“It’s a deal.”

Alessandro could hardly keep his eyes off
her. Her conversation was always lively but he could scarcely
concentrate. Her blond, sun-streaked hair shivered around her
sun-tanned arms. The dress, while having a deep neckline, covered
her shoulders. He knew about her scars but she always kept them
covered and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. On the
contrary, he wanted her very comfortable. His eyes fell to her
breasts: barely concealed by the soft fabric. They were full, round
and it was all he could do not to reach over and run his finger
around their outer point, to watch them peak with desire.

That was what he wanted. And that was what he
was going to get.

His eyes dropped lower still to her slightly
rounded stomach—so sensuous, he wanted to cup it with his hand—down
to her legs, long and lean. It was a crime to cover them in the
boyish shorts and jeans she normally wore. The low heels—he thought
high ones would be pushing his luck—didn’t scream femme fatale, but
were softly feminine. He particularly liked the way she slipped
them off periodically and rubbed each arch with the opposite foot
as if seeking reassurance that they were OK in these alien
shoes.

Funny, how a body talked so much more
meaningfully than words.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve been
saying.”

He looked up at her green eyes—paler in the
bright sunshine but just as intriguing—and smiled. “No. I’ve been
admiring you.”

A cloud seemed to lower over her
expression.

“There’s nothing to admire. Stop it,
Alessandro, this— this charade. What is it all about—all this
dressing me up in clothes of your choosing—control? You want to
prove your manliness by controlling me? That’s what men do isn’t
it?”

He frowned, trying to understand her sudden
turn of mood. “Cara, calm down. I am not after anything. I have
enough in my life that I can control. I don’t need anything more. I
simply wish to admire. Not take anything you’re not willing to
give.”

He saw her almost deflate with his words.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to
this. I don’t want anything more than what I have. And I think you
do. What is it that you want, Alessandro? What is it that you think
you’ve just bought?”

“I’d hoped that I’d just brought—not
bought—you and me some pleasure. Was I wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m not a
pleasure-seeking kind of woman.”

“No. You’re a stubborn one.”

“Stubborn is good.”

“Possibly. But not easy.”

“You’d be bored with easy.”

He smiled then. “And you don’t want me to be
bored do you?”

She grimaced, realizing that she’d just given
away her true feelings.

“No. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy your company.”

“Did that hurt so much to say?”

She lowered her eyes and nodded. “A
little.”

“And I enjoy yours.” He raised his glass. “A
toast. To pleasure.”

She hesitated but couldn’t resist the look in
his eyes. When she finally looked away she realized that she was
sunk. She’d fallen for him and there was no getting away from it
this time.

By the time they returned it was nearly
midnight. The guards were in place and Emily felt more light-headed
than she’d felt for years as they walked up to the villa,
Alessandro’s arm resting lightly around her shoulders.

She waited as Alessandro spoke briefly to the
guards.

“What did you say?”

“I told them to concentrate on the dig site
from now on. I’ll look after the villa.”

He drew out a chair for her on the terrazza
overlooking the wide lawn and the rambling garden beyond.

“Sit, I will get us some wine.”

She sank down into the soft cushions and ran
her hands down her dress and wriggled her feet out of her shoes for
the hundredth time. She’d never imagined that she would wear such
things. They made her feel a different woman. They made her
feel—

She bit her lip and looked into the dark
distance.

She couldn’t fool herself into believing how
they made her feel. They didn’t change things.

But the brief veil of sadness couldn’t shift
the magic of the night. The stars were brilliant in the sky, the
weather still unnaturally calm. Waiting weather. The memory of this
morning’s awareness that change was coming flitted through her
mind. But again Alessandro disturbed it.

He placed the glasses and bottle of wine on
the table and sat beside her. He put his arm around her and pulled
her to him.

“It’s beautiful here. I can’t believe you’d
ever want to leave it.”

She felt his arm stiffen. “I don’t stay
anywhere for long. I am only here now because of my father’s
will.”

“Why did he make that request of you,
Alessandro?”

She felt him shrug. “I don’t know. I have my
suspicions. He was a deep man, a scholar, a thinker. I think he
wanted me to stop.”

“Stop? What?”

“Everything.” He turned so that he could see
her. “But I’m not interested in talking about my father, or me,
tonight.”

“What are you interested in talking
about?”

“You, of course.”

“Ah, of course. Well, what can I say? I
hardly know myself any more. I feel so different.”

“And why is that?”

“Come on. Don’t I look different?”

He tilted his head to one side and considered
her. “A little. We didn’t go shopping for you to look or feel
different, Emily. It is you I’m interested in, not someone else,
not some created person.”

“I’m glad. I mean, I wondered what you were
trying to do, whether you were trying to create a perfect
person.”

She couldn’t help her voice faltering on the
word “perfect”.

He picked up her hand and kissed it
gently.

“You’re trembling.”

“You’re close.”

“What would you do if I were closer?”

“Tremble some more.”

“I’d better test that.”

He stood up and raised her to her feet, put
his arms gently around her and kissed her softly.

Contradictory sensations flooded her body:
her heart hammered and heat filled her, and yet time seemed to slow
as she felt his tongue slide against hers and her body press to
his—the sensations felt fully with each pressure point, each hot
trail left by his hand, experienced minutely.

She shifted more closely to him, her arms
wrapping around him, her feverish hands caressing places that she’d
been wanting to touch ever since they’d met. Slowly her thoughts
slipped away, overwhelmed by the myriad sensations her fingers
brought to her mind.

He pulled away.

“Not much trembling there. You seem to have
overcome your nerves.”

“I think I’ve overcome everything, including
thinking.”

She could see his eyes roam her face,
drinking in every detail. She felt suddenly distanced. She didn’t
want him to see every detail of her. Because she didn’t want him to
be disgusted. And he would be, this appreciator of everything
perfect.

But then he kissed her again and swept all
thoughts away once more.

“Come, cara, let’s go inside. I’ve dismissed
the guards from around the house but I still don’t wish our
pleasure to be observed.”

Dream-like she followed the tug of his hand
as he led her inside and up the flight of stairs to the other wing
of the house.

He unlocked a room and took her inside.

She’d not been in any of the locked rooms
before and was transfixed. Medieval in origin the plaster walls in
this wing were still decorated with the original medieval
paintings. Soft ochre faded into the gentlest of autumn reds and
yellows and the palest grey-green. The spread wings of the
Archangel Gabriel was presumably designed to give the sleeper
shelter at night. Now, with the passing years, the outline was
indistinct and not so awe-inspiring as it must once have been.

“Wow! You’ve been keeping something from
me.”

“I hope you have the same response in a few
moments.”

She laughed and walked up to the painting.
Her fingers hovered over its beauty, not wanting to touch and add
to the painting’s deterioration but desperately wanting to commune
with something so beautiful.

She hadn’t heard him approach but felt his
hands on her shoulders, gently caressing. She closed her eyes. If
only he knew what lay beneath the exquisite dress.

How could she go through with this? It
couldn’t go anywhere, not when he knew. She didn’t think she could
bear the inevitable look of disgust on his face. She felt his warm
lips upon her neck, sending shivers of sensation down her back,
heating her body and freezing any thoughts of hesitancy.

She turned in his arms and their lips met
with a heat and urgency that had been latent during the day. His
hands covered her back and slid around to her waist and hips,
smoothly over the fine fabric.

She’d waited a long time to explore with her
hands where her mind had been every time she’d been with him. Now,
she could feel the tight muscles under his shirt. But it wasn’t
enough. She pushed up the fabric of his shirt and felt the heated
skin beneath. Her hands slid to his stomach where the muscles
clenched.