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‘Avanti!’ she called out, proud of the progress she was making. Most of the staff here spoke some English, but they seemed to have decided that she should learn to speak their language. She’d been happy to oblige them and it was all turning out to be a lot of fun.
But the beaming smile was wiped from her face as Lucenzo entered. Her mouth went dry so that when she managed, ‘You’re back earlier than we thought,’ her voice sounded rusty. His presence hit her like a lightning strike, welding her bare feet to the carpet, sending shock waves through her.
He made no answer, just stared at her from those enigmatically lowered eyes of his. He looked strained and decidedly grim, she thought, and felt her heart swell to twice its normal size in sympathy.
He was a man who had everything anyone could want, yet he had nothing. He’d witnessed the tragic death of his wife and unborn child. Nothing could be more traumatic than that, could it?
Had he shut his emotions away then, or did it go back into his childhood? She recalled what Assunta had told her, how Vito’s mother had had him sent away to school because she didn’t want him around, how he’d never allowed anyone to
see how much he’d minded. Did he sometimes appear cold and unfeeling because he was afraid to show emotion?
Suddenly, she ached to hold him in her arms and cuddle him, take away the pain and loneliness that life had dealt him. Was this what loving meant? Feeling someone’s pain as if it were your own, aching to take it away, being drawn to someone even though your logical mind was telling you to keep your distance?
She made a tiny, unguarded sound of distress and saw his jaw clench as his eyes closed just briefly. He opened them again and said, ‘I need to speak to you before we join the others for dinner.’
Seeing her again, dressed like that, had practically knocked him senseless. He’d long decided that, somewhat unfortunately for his own peace of mind, she possessed the sexiest body he’d ever set eyes on, but now she had all that plus a very classy beauty. And she’d done something to her hair. It shimmered with light, framed her lovely face with an unruffled elegance. He wanted to run his fingers through it to see if it was real.
To stop himself from even thinking of that very real kind of temptation, he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets just as she stated firmly, ‘Assunta’s not here so I won’t be down for dinner tonight. Ugo’s bringing me a tray. Oh—’
A wail from the nursery had her twirling around, her softly floating skirts flying as she sped to rescue her baby.
It wasn’t long since she’d bathed, changed and fed him, so he couldn’t be hungry. It was probably nothing more worrying than wind, she assured herself as she picked him up, cuddled him against her shoulder and smiled with relief when he gave a windy grin and a great big burp.
Laying him back in his crib after a whole lot of loving chit-chat, she dropped a gentle kiss on each of his petal-soft cheeks and wondered what Lucenzo wanted to talk to her about. The vexed subject of whether she stayed or whether she went, she supposed, dreading having to face his inevitable irritation with her. But, no matter what, she wouldn’t change her mind. She was sure now that she was being typically stupid, and falling for him, so that meant that leaving here, and him, was doubly, trebly important.
All of her nerve-endings prickling now, Portia tiptoed out of the nursery and headed for the bathroom to mop herself up, holding the damp bodice of her dress away from her skin.
Ugo glided out of the sitting room and said, ‘Buona sera, signorina,’ with his customary wide grin, closely followed by Lucenzo, who stood in the doorway, watching her with narrowed eyes.
Portia watched him watching her and her heart felt as if it might burst. His mouth was a straight, forbidding line and his eyes looked haunted. Did being around Vito’s child remind him of his terrible loss? She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to watch a loved one die, the two most important people in his world wiped out by a stupid accident.
A sob rose in her throat but she gamely swallowed it. She so much wanted to comfort him, make him happy. But it wasn’t in her power. She was fathoms deep in love with him, she admitted wretchedly, but he would never, could never, feel the same way about her.
He had obviously loved his wife so much that falling in love with another woman was an out-and-out impossibility. And even if it weren’t he would never take his brother’s cast-off.
Portia felt the fine hairs on her body all stand to attention and knew she had to find a way to break this unnervingly strange silence. She moistened her lips. ‘You’ll be keeping the others waiting,’ she said, and her voice sounded strangled.
‘No. I used your house phone to give my apologies and ask Ugo to bring supper for two. Which, as you saw, he has done.’ Lucenzo knew he sounded wooden and struggled to break free of the trance-like state looking at her had induced.
She was flushed and flustered, her lovely eyes clear, wide and a little too bright, and a pulse was beating madly at the base of her slender neck. One hand covered the thrusting curve of her left breast and he wished his hand were her hand.
He groaned softly. As he knew from experience she could so easily tip him over the edge, and mere animal lust was taboo where she was concerned. She’d had it tough and she deserved better—and he wasn’t the man to give it to her. He couldn’t give her or any other woman emotional commitment. He’d lived by that rule for a long time now and wasn’t about to break it.
He was here in this room, with her, to do a job, he reminded himself cuttingly, not for any other reason. He had to tell her what was in Eduardo’s mind and warn her that if she accepted his marriage proposal she’d be making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.
Watching his face close down grimly, Portia shuddered. Supper alone with him would be much too intimate. How could she hope to hide the way she felt? By trying to act as normally as possible, which in her case meant—if her parents were to be believed—like a half-wit! She would start by shutting herself away in the bathroom and getting on with mopping up. The fabric beneath her hand still felt damp.
Grasping the neckline and flapping wildly, she babbled, ‘I’ve got baby dribble on my lovely new dress. I should have stuck to my guns—new mums should wear nothing but charity shop rejects!’
Perhaps he’d say what he’d come for and go.
He did no such thing. Just gave her a long, comprehensive look that made her whole body tingle and her heart pick up speed, beating so madly she thought it might choke her. She gave a long painful shudder as he turned abruptly, stepped into the bathroom and reappeared a second later with a towel. Walking as though he were in a trance, his voice thick, more heavily accented than she’d ever heard it before, he said, ‘Here, let me deal with it.’
As he scanned the damp area one hand rose slowly to slip beneath the neckline while the other dabbed gently with the soft white towel. The backs of his fingers grazed the tingling swell of her breast and Portia sucked in a ragged breath. She felt as if she had walked into the heart of a blazing fire, and colour accented the harsh lines of his cheekbones as his body went taut and very still.
Portia wanted to step away, but her limbs had lost all power of movement and her mind was a total blank. When he raised his heavy lashes and she saw the melting, drowning darkness of his eyes she was utterly, and for all time, lost.
The towel fluttered uselessly to the floor as with a groan of helpless capitulation Lucenzo dragged her into his arms. One heartbeat later his mouth was plundering her and reality spun away.
