The Sicilian's Mistress (17 page)

‘You didn't
lose
your passport,
cara
. You left it behind in the townhouse and I eventually took it back to London with me. Fortunately it's still current, and it'll be waiting for you to collect at the airport. How did you contrive to get back into the UK without it?' Gianni enquired drily.

‘I was a ferry passenger. I didn't realise I didn't have my passport until just before I got off. I was ready to panic, but in the end I wasn't actually challenged,' Milly recalled ruefully. ‘In the crush I managed to slip through. But I've never been so nervous in my life and it's not something I'd ever try again. I felt like a criminal, waiting for a hand to fall on my shoulder.'

‘I wish Immigration had picked you up and thrown you in a cell until I caught up with you,' Gianni confided grimly. ‘I wasted a lot of time searching France for you!'

‘I don't want to come to Paris tonight,' Milly admitted in a taut undertone.

‘It's not negotiable. I'll see you later,' Gianni countered, and finished the call.

Celebrating
his
way? In Paris, where they had been happiest? Stefano had never set foot in the townhouse. The moment Gianni's brother came into her mind Milly tried to push him out again, but her bitterness rose simultaneously and it was impossible to evade her memories…

Gianni had kept Milly and Stefano in separate compart
ments. If Stefano hadn't chosen to breach those boundaries, Milly believed she would never have met him. Throughout their entire relationship Gianni had maintained his own homes in New York and London, and although he had occasionally mentioned Stefano, he had never once suggested that they should meet.

Stefano was Gianni's half-brother, born of his putative father's relationship with his stepmother. At the age of eleven, Stefano had been taken to Sicily and Gianni had become his legal guardian. Milly had first met Stefano at the New York apartment which Gianni had purchased for her use. By then Stefano had been studying at Harvard. He had just arrived on the doorstep one evening when Gianni was staying.

‘I hardly see Gianni any more. Now I now why!' Stefano had laughed.

Initially, Gianni had been uneasy about his kid brother's descent, but, knowing how fond he was of Stefano, Milly had been pleased. It was so hard now to remember that she herself had once liked Stefano.

He had been immature, and pretty spoilt by Gianni's indulgence, but he had been easy company. During the final months of her relationship with Gianni, Stefano had called in whenever she was over in New York. Sometimes Gianni had been there; sometimes he hadn't been. Registering that Gianni had actually been enjoying the fact that he was seeing more of his brother, Milly had made every effort to be welcoming.

‘If my brother really cares about you, he should marry you,' Stefano had said once, seriously embarrassing her.

But at the time she'd thought little of that comment—certainly hadn't registered that Stefano's interest in her had become rather too personal. After all, Stefano had had a live-in girlfriend of his own. And Milly had been very wrapped up in Gianni and her own concerns. It had been shortly after first meeting Stefano that she had discovered that she was pregnant.

Even after Gianni had told her that he didn't want to lose her, Milly had gone on feeling insecure. He hadn't ever said up front that he wanted their baby. And although he had been more tender and caring in all sorts of quiet ways she had feared that he was simply making the best of a bad situation. She had also waited for Gianni to tell his brother that she was pregnant. When Gianni had stayed silent, Milly had become more and more uneasy about his attitude.

The night that her world had fallen apart, she had been alone when Stefano dropped in to visit. He had been drinking, and for the first time Milly had felt uncomfortable with him, although even at that late stage she hadn't understood why—until he'd spoken, and shattered the casual camaraderie she had believed they'd had.

‘You just don't see me, do you?' Stefano launched at her bitterly, his darkly handsome features flushed as the condemnation simply erupted from him. ‘I don't exist for you except as Gianni's brother. I come round here to see you and all we ever talk about is
him
.'

‘I don't understand…what—?'

‘I'm in love with you!' Stefano shot at her accusingly. ‘You haven't even noticed, have you?'

Milly was aghast, exploded out of her self-absorption with a vengeance. ‘You've had too much to drink…you don't know what you're saying—'

‘Don't talk down to me like I'm some little kid!' Stefano rounded on her furiously. ‘You're not much older than I am. But Gianni's
years
older. He's almost a different generation! You've got much more in common with me—'

‘Let's just forget you ever said this stuff,' Milly cut in tautly. ‘You have to know how I feel about your brother—'

‘And how does he
feel
about you?' Stefano slammed back, the words slurring. ‘He jets in, takes you to bed and jets off again. All he does is
use
you…can't you see that?'

‘I won't discuss our relationship with you,' Milly said shakily, seriously stung by that assessment.

‘Don't tell me I leave you stone-cold. I won't believe you.
I've never met a girl who didn't think
I
was something special!' Stefano launched at her like a spoilt little boy, needing to blow his own trumpet. ‘I'd treat you like a queen, Angel.'

‘I've had enough of this, Stefano. I've only ever thought of you as Gianni's brother and I'm going to forget this ever happened, just like you'll want to forget it tomorrow morning,' Milly forecast witheringly. ‘Now I'm going to call a taxi so that you can go home.'

‘I'll call my own cab when I'm ready to leave,' Stefano informed her truculently. ‘This is Gianni's place, not yours. I've got every right to be here if I want to be!'

While he angrily paced the room, his clumsy gait telling her that he was a lot drunker than she had initially appreciated, a wave of sick dizziness ran over Milly. But the look of utter misery in Stefano's brown eyes still hit her hard, making her feel responsible, even though she was well aware that she had never done or said anything which might have encouraged him. ‘Look, it's just a crush, Stefano. That's all it is—'

‘It's not a crush! I really,
really
love you!'

Nausea stirred in her stomach. ‘But I'm not attracted to you—'

‘You could be if you'd let yourself,' Stefano had flung stubbornly. ‘I may not be the stud Gianni is, but I'm no teenage virgin!'

Milly's nausea grew suddenly worse. ‘Look, let yourself out. I'm not feeling well. I'm going to bed!' she gasped as she raced like a maniac for the privacy of the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom.

She was horribly sick. As she slowly recovered from that bout, she heard what she assumed to be the slam of the front door on Stefano's departure. She meant to go and do up the locks and switch out the lights, but she ended up going for a shower instead. She was exhausted, and very upset. And her distress was exacerbated by the conviction that she would have to keep the whole messy episode a secret from Gianni.

How could she confide in him without causing friction between the two brothers? She didn't want to be the source of the smallest conflict between Gianni and his only living relative. And, although she didn't acknowledge it at the time, she was also afraid to add any further stress to their own relationship.

So, although Milly desperately longed to reach for the phone to talk to Gianni about what had happened, she resisted the temptation and staunchly told herself that it would all blow over. Stefano had got drunk to make that foolish declaration. When he sobered up, he would be angry that he had made a fool of himself. He would stay away from her from now on.

She pulled on a nightdress and climbed into bed. The bedroom door was still ajar. The light in the corridor was still on. Too weary even to get out of bed to turn it off, she stuffed her face in a pillow and went to sleep. It didn't once cross her mind that she might
not
be alone in the apartment…

With an angry shiver, Milly sank back to the present. She still found it so hard to credit that the reckless, selfish arrogance of a teenager unable to tolerate rejection could have devastated her life.

A
S THE
limo which had picked Milly up at Charles de Gaulle airport wafted her through Paris that evening, her every thought was a memory…

Gianni had bought her the finest chocolates, perfume, and taken her to dine at exclusive restaurants. His knowledge of Paris related only to the exclusive haunts of the rich. Milly had returned the favour by making him queue up for ice-cream from her favourite parlour, browse for books, wander through the flea markets, enjoy the jazz festival and watch French plays in the Shakespeare garden in the Bois de Boulogne.

Employing the keys which had been waiting with her passport for her to collect, Milly let herself into the townhouse on the Rue de Varenne. As she discarded her coat, her heart was beating very fast. She scolded herself for her nervous tension. Everything would be different. Since Gianni had retained the house for his own use, he would have made sweeping changes. The vibrant colours, exotic throws and comfortable furniture she had favoured would have been superceded by classic shades, cool elegance and superb antiques.

So it was a real shock for Milly to walk into the spacious reception rooms and see everything exactly as she had left it three years earlier. Her steps quickened as she took a tour and finally hurried upstairs to the bedroom they had once shared. The connecting door stood wide on the fabulous marble bathroom.

Milly focused on the giant bath, her breath catching in her throat as she remembered the night she had bathed in bubbles and Gianni had stolen that photograph. Racing after
him, clutching a towel, she had cornered him in the bedroom.

‘Give me that camera!' she had yelled furiously.

‘Come and get it,' Gianni had invited, stunning dark eyes brimming with vibrant amusement as she had dripped all over the carpet.

‘
Gianni
…I'm warning you!'

As he had stood there, naked but for a pair of silk boxer shorts, his lithe, bronzed body a powerful enticement, a wolfish grin had slashed his mouth and sent her treacherous pulses racing. ‘
Dio mio
, you're so sexy when you get aggressive.'

Milly had made a wild grab for the camera, but Gianni had cast it aside and caught her up in his arms to crush her mouth with hungry urgency under his.

‘I want that film destroyed,' she had told him breathlessly, a long while later, still trembling from the raw potency of his stormy possession.

Gianni had given her a slow-burning smile and had said nothing.

So intense was that recollection that Milly stared at the bed almost as if she expected to see the ghosts of Gianni and herself
still
lying there. She blinked, and turned around in an uncoordinated circle, and then found herself heading for the fitted units in the dressing room. She stared in frank astonishment at the clothing carefully stored in garment bags and then sped into the bathroom to check cupboards.

Finally, with her legs threatening to buckle, she sank down on the corner of the bed. Unbelievable as it was to her, Gianni had left all her belongings intact. Nothing had been changed, nothing had been dumped. It was eerie. But for the garment bags, the past three years might not have happened. The whole house appeared to be locked in an astonishing time warp.

‘You wouldn't believe how often I've pictured you here like this…' That deep, dark sexy drawl slashed through her reverie and sent her head flying up, shining waves of hair
tumbling back from her oval face to accentuate troubled eyes as blue as lapis lazuli.

Milly looked fantastic, Gianni acknowledged with satisfaction, long past the stage of questioning why this one small woman should excite him to such an extent. It was sex, just sex. He was content with that explanation. It wasn't something he had to think about; the ache of hot, instantaneous arousal was reassuringly familiar. She was wearing something bright and clingy, which for Milly signified a fairly substantial degree of effort on her behalf. She was also trying to smile, but her eyes were strained. She was just nervous; she
had
to be happier than she looked, Gianni told himself impatiently, discarding that initial impression. He just could not see that she had the smallest thing to be unhappy about.

Milly stared at Gianni with colour steadily mounting in her cheeks. He lounged in the doorway, six feet three inches of stunning dark good looks and lean, lithe elegance, his attitude one of deceptive indolence.

Abruptly, she slid upright, smoothing uncertain hands down over the turquoise dress she wore. ‘I didn't hear you arrive…'

Shimmering golden eyes roamed over her, lingering on the generous curve of her soft mouth, the defined thrust of her firm breasts and rounded hips in the sleek silky fabric. ‘You've been shopping—'

‘No. This was an impulse buy last year. I never wore it.'

‘Sexy,
cara mia
,' Gianni told her with husky approval, slowly raising lean brown hands to shrug out of his overcoat and let it fall.

Milly's heart started to beat so fast she thought it might burst from her chest. He removed the jacket of the formal suit he wore beneath. Her breath began to rasp in her throat, making her mouth run dry. Without removing his smouldering attention from her for a second, he tugged loose his gold tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

‘Gianni…' she began unevenly, her body reacting invol
untarily to the wild, hot sexual charge in the atmosphere. As her breasts swelled with languorous heaviness, and her nipples stiffened to push against the confines of her bra, she shifted uneasily. ‘We really should talk.'

‘Never got us anywhere before.'

‘Because we never actually
did
it!'

‘Everything the way it was,' Gianni reminded her with scorching golden eyes as he took an almost compulsive step forward. ‘You promised.'

Had she promised? Hadn't she just said she'd
try
? But as Gianni came closer the question became academic as rational thought blurred and infinitely more basic promptings took over. Suddenly she couldn't wait to get close. She merged with his outrageously masculine frame on legs that already felt weak and hollow, eagerly drawing in the familiar warm, male scent of his skin.

‘You want me…' Long fingers curved to her chin, exerting pressure to turn up her face and see the hunger she couldn't hide.

Breathless, she gazed up into his spectacular eyes, heat spearing up almost painfully in her stomach to stretch every nerve-ending taut. ‘Always.'

‘That's all I need,
cara mia
,' Gianni asserted with complete conviction.

She reached up to him first, encouraging him to drive her lips apart in a devouringly hungry kiss. Her head spun and her senses whirled. He tasted like water in the desert, so sweet, so precious she felt she would die if she didn't drink deep. Painful memories fell away from her. She met those dark, deep flashing eyes with an instinctive sense of coming home.

Unzipping her dress, Gianni peeled it off. She shivered, pressed her thighs together, seeking to contain the heat he had already awakened. But in one easy movement she unclasped her own bra. Her face burned, but she revelled in the sudden blaze of gold in Gianni's appreciative appraisal as her pouting breasts fell free.

‘Witch,' he rasped, tumbling her down backwards on the bed with a thrilling lack of cool.

Her spine curved in wondering pleasure as his expert mouth travelled hungrily between her urgently sensitive nipples. As he sucked on a straining pink bud she gasped, her hands clutching at shoulders still frustratingly sheathed in fabric.

‘Take your clothes off,' she urged shakily.

Expelling his breath in a driven hiss, Gianni raised himself. He scrutinised her flushed face and moist parted lips with ravenous desire, his lean, strong features taut with the effort self-control demanded. Beginning to sit up, she arched her back, and his mesmerised gaze welded to the projecting peaks of her exquisite breasts.

‘
Dio…
I can't spare that much time,' Gianni groaned raggedly.

He curved a not quite steady hand to her temptingly swollen flesh and then drove her flat again with the onslaught of his passionate mouth on hers. His tongue dipped with slow, skilful intimacy between her parted lips, tasting her with an eroticism that released a startled moan of excitement from her throat.

With a roughened laugh of satisfaction, Gianni lifted his head again and surveyed her. ‘I might want to jump you like a starving animal, but tonight is going to be different,' he swore, rubbing a thumb gently along the ripe curve of her full lower lip, and she shivered with helpless anticipation.

‘Different?'

‘Special,'
Gianni husked thickly against her mouth, and kissed her again. This time she didn't just see cymbals and fireworks, she saw a whole chamber orchestra illuminated by shooting rockets.

‘I love the way you kiss,' she confided feverishly as she tried to wrench him out of his shirt. ‘But if you don't take your clothes off I'll scream!'

Gianni finally backed off the bed. The slashing grin of
appreciation lightening his strong dark features squeezed her heart as efficiently as a vice.

Her softened eyes roamed over him. Not even the most perfectly tailored trousers could conceal the bold jut of his erection. A twist of almost shocking excitement slivered through her. Dry-mouthed, she watched him strip.

‘I like it when you can't take your eyes off me,' Gianni confessed huskily.

Her whole body tingled with the need to touch him. He was awesomely aroused. He strolled fluidly back to the bed and she felt as if her bones were about to melt beneath her skin. He stood her up with gentle hands and went down on his knees to tug her panties down over her hips.

‘I have three years of erotic daydreams to live out.' Gianni's deep, dark drawl fractured as he pressed his mouth in a surprisingly tender salute against her stomach. She quivered like a sapling in a storm.

Curving strong hands to her slender hips, he lifted her back on the bed. She was weak with hunger. His first touch was like a match hitting a bale of hay. She was so ready she already ached for him, but Gianni was intent on reacquainting himself with every responsive inch of her wildly sensitised flesh. With silken finesse, he explored the hot, moist centre of her. She writhed out of control. Then he rearranged her, like a gourmet at a feast, and used his wickedly expert mouth and tongue to drive her crazy with an intimacy that drove her from ecstatic moans to choked and frantic pleas for satisfaction.

‘
Dio
…I love torturing you with pleasure…I've had nothing else on my mind since the day I saw you at the airport,
cara mia
. I can't work; I can't sleep,' Gianni ground out, startling her.

Rising over her, he settled her beneath him. He entered her with an evocative groan of shuddering satisfaction. She met his shimmering dark eyes, feeling the sheer burning intensity of his pleasure for a split second before he plunged her back into sole awareness of her own.

‘You feel like hot satin!' Gianni rasped.

And then, as he moved on her and in her, the hot, electrifying excitement took over and she wrapped herself round him, moaning her pleasure beneath his every thrust. Heart and body exulting as one, she gave herself without inhibition and reached a shattering climax that left her floating in shell-shocked contentment.

Releasing her from his weight, Gianni hauled her back into the circle of his arms. The almost forgotten reassurance of that continuing desire for physical closeness even after satiation filled her with brimming warmth.

He ran a slow fingertip down over one tear-wet cheek. ‘Special,' he breathed almost harshly, gazing intently into her drowningly blue eyes, dark colour slowly rising to accentuate his sculpted cheekbones. ‘And yet you have driven me crazy more times than any woman I've ever known…'

‘Really?' Milly gave him a dreamy, unapologetic smile.

‘Really,
cara mia
,' Gianni confirmed, hungrily kissing her again.

 

Gianni woke up and rolled over. Milly wasn't there. He sat up with a jerk to hit the lights and check his watch. It was midnight. Springing out of bed stark naked, he strode out of the bedroom.

He found Milly downstairs in the dimly lit state-of-the art kitchen. Her slender back turned to him, she was barefoot and wearing an oversized T-shirt that he recognised as having once been his. Humming softly to herself, she was checking something in the stainless steel oven. The almost forgotten aroma of baking apples and pastry assailed Gianni. He turned pale.

Breathing in shallow, quiet spurts to refill his straining lungs, Gianni slowly unclenched his coiled fists. He was in a cold sweat! Swinging soundlessly out of the doorway, he flung himself back against the wall in the dark corridor beyond. Where
did
you think she'd gone? His even white teeth gritted. He was outraged by the recognition of his own fear,
alienated by the dark, deep stirrings of childhood memories he always kept locked away.

When he'd been barely more than a toddler, Gianni had learnt the hard way that he couldn't depend on anybody. Not his mother, who had thrown him out of the house for hours on end while she entertained her clients, not his supposed father, who had drunk himself into violent rages and seized on any excuse to lash out with his fists and his belt. Not his stepmother, who had loathed him on sight and humiliated him at every opportunity.

Not even his deeply religious uncle and aunt, who had removed him from the orphanage at the age of thirteen and flown him over to their London home to take the place of their own dead son. For a little while he had believed he was really wanted, until they'd started constantly reminding him of the debt he owed them. They had never formally adopted him, and had washed their hands of him entirely the instant they were forced to accept that he had no vocation to become a priest.