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She wanted him to leave.
She wanted him to stay.
He turned her around and started to kiss her and, to her shame, she let him. No, that wasn’t strictly accurate. There was no shame involved in any of this—only pleasure. She was giving as good as she got and kissing him back with a fervour which felt angry as well as hungry. And maybe those two words were easier to muddle up than she’d initially thought. It felt as if she wanted to punish him. Which she did. As if she wanted to hurt him as much as he had just hurt her. It might have been wrong but it felt so right and he laughed softly against her lips, as if he were trying to provoke her into an even more passionate response. And he was getting one, because now it was rapidly getting out of control. Her hands flew to his shoulders as he bent her back towards the table and his teeth were grazing at her breasts though the thin jersey of the red dress. Her nipples puckered into painful points as he rucked up her dress and she heard his ragged murmur of desire. She felt so wet and she could hear the rasp of his zip as roughly he freed himself, followed closely by the sound of crashing china and cutlery as he swept it off the table and it hit the kitchen floor.
But Lina didn’t care and she didn’t stop. She didn’t think anything could have stopped her right then, she wanted him so much. He ripped off her panties, damp, tattered fabric fluttering down to join the other debris, to the accompaniment of her own slurred words of approval. She was barely aware of him tearing open a condom and putting it on before opening her thighs and positioning himself. He thrust right up to the hilt and never had he felt bigger or harder or more aroused. She came so quickly it took her by surprise—though not him—for he gave a moan of relieved satisfaction as he followed her, his jerking body taking a long time to subside afterwards.
He buried his head in her curls, which were spread like a black cloth over the table, and when she turned her head to survey the shattered glass and crockery, she could see the pasta already congealing, like tomato-covered snakes. She had wondered if he might show remorse or regret, but there were neither as he brushed his mouth over hers in a careless kiss, before slowly following the direction of her gaze.
‘To hell with domesticity,’ he grated. ‘There’s only one thing I want to see you doing in my kitchen, Lina, and it’s this.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE DECORATED STORE looked as if Christmas had arrived early and there was barely an inch to move. Lina hovered near the entrance, busy scanning the new arrivals who were being waved through by security guards, and trying not to look as if she was waiting for someone—which of course she was. She gave a quick glance at her watch. Where was he? She could see Siena walking towards her—her cream chiffon evening dress floating behind her like a cloud—and she smiled at the designer who had been so kind to her.
‘What are you doing hanging around by the entrance instead of out there basking in the glow of your success?’ Siena questioned.
Lina’s smile didn’t slip. She’d been producing it at regular intervals since the party had kicked off with a blast of Sicilian music, cascades of twinkling rainbow lights and non-stop pink champagne. No need to tell Siena that she was waiting for Salvatore and didn’t have a clue what time he was getting here. That he hadn’t called her since the day before yesterday, saying that the line was bad and his schedule busy. Or that there had been several long, awkward silences throughout a conversation he clearly hadn’t wanted to have. Was that why they had talked about the weather, and how long the flight had taken and whether the famous Brazilian feijoada dish was as delicious as everyone said it was. Because ever since that night when they’d had sex on the kitchen table, it had felt as if there were more than just the gulf of a different country between them. And she couldn’t quite shake off the dark ache of foreboding, for she suspected things were ending between them.
She looked at the designer, who was twisting a long rope of pearls around her finger. ‘I was just looking out for Salvatore’s car.’ Lina shrugged. ‘Because I’m guessing people will want to see him.’
‘Oh, people always like to see Salvatore di Luca.’ Siena slanted her a wide smile. ‘But you’re the star here tonight, Lina, and don’t you ever forget that. You can be perfectly successful in your own right, with or without your billionaire lover.’
Lina wondered if that was simply a kindly intervention from the older woman, warning her not to rely on a man who was only ever going to be a temporary fixture in her life, but she nodded, even if right then she didn’t really believe it. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are going to speak to the journalist, aren’t you?’ Siena continued. ‘He says he’s a little worried. He thinks you’ve been avoiding him all evening.’
‘But... I’ve already given an interview to Trend magazine.’
‘Yes. I realise that.’ Siena twirled her pearls round and round her forefinger. ‘But the local paper has a very popular gossip column, which is bread and butter for people in the luxury-brand business. It shouldn’t be too onerous. Just tell him a bit about yourself. How you got started and what you like doing in your spare time. Readers love that kind of thing.’
A sudden lump sprang up in her throat and Lina swallowed because this was the bit she was terrified about. What could she possibly say to elaborate on the basic facts of her life—that she enjoyed sewing little beads and sequins onto squashy pieces of velvet and making each one different? That she enjoyed pottering around in Salvatore’s huge gardens whenever she got the chance and felt a distinct sense of achievement that she had finally managed to get the frosty Henry to warm to her a little. But her main passion was for Salvatore, and that was the trickiest part of all.
Because her feelings for him had grown in a way she’d never planned. Maybe that was why the power balance between them had shifted so radically that she now felt as if they were living in different dimensions. And it had all happened since she’d cooked him that wretched meal. Since she’d stupidly tried to take their relationship onto another level.
Nervously, she swallowed. ‘Must I?’
‘It’s essential,’ said Siena firmly. ‘In fact, here’s Brett Forrester now and he’s heading our way. Look, why don’t you take him over there, away from the music deck—go and stand over by the evening coats, where it’s quieter?’
Lina’s heart was racing as she watched the journalist making his way towards them. Brett Forrester was a man in his late forties with a ridiculously over-long blond fringe flapping into his eyes, which she thought might have looked better on someone two decades younger. Ditto his leather jacket and very tight jeans. Shunning the champagne, he seemed welded to a tumbler of whisky, from which he constantly sipped, and he gave Lina a critical once-over as Siena introduced them before diplomatically drifting away in her cloud of chiffon. The greetings over, he raised his arm and a woman with an enormous camera instantly appeared by his side.
‘We’ll get some shots of you now, and a few more when your boyfriend arrives,’ he said, his voice very slightly slurred.
A flash exploded in Lina’s face, and she blinked in alarm.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Lick your lips, honey. Stop looking so scared. Camera’s not going to bite you—and don’t forget this is all for your benefit.’
Was it? Lina wondered why this whole evening was suddenly starting to feel as if she’d released a monster from a cage. She hadn’t realised just how many people would be attending, or that they’d be crammed into the huge space of Siena’s store like sardines in a tin. The music was too loud and the half-glass of pink champagne she’d drunk was already giving her a headache. In fact, the only friendly face she’d seen all evening had been Sean MacCormack—the soap actor she’d sat next to at the charity gala when she’d first arrived in the city, and Salvatore had insisted on buying her that designer dress, which she hadn’t worn since. But she had worn it tonight because it was the only thing in her wardrobe which was halfway suitable and, despite Salvatore’s preferences, she had worn her hair up—mainly to showcase some of the jewellery which the store also stocked. Which was why she currently had two waterfall diamond earrings dangling by the sides of her neck, along with a matching bracelet which flashed rainbows whenever she moved her wrist.
At least tonight’s party had proved an effective distraction, barely giving her time to think, let alone brood about how bad it had been between her and Salvatore before he’d flown to Rio. Awful didn’t come close to the way that night had ended. She had insisted on clearing up the mess they’d created on the kitchen floor and had insisted he help her. At first he hadn’t believed she meant it—as if someone like him shouldn’t have to participate in something as ordinary as housework. But she had held firm, her emotions still running high after the furious words they had shared and the highly charged sex which had followed.
‘Do you think it’s magically going to clean itself?’ she had demanded. ‘Or that one of your staff should have to deal with it in the morning? You were the one who threw everything on the floor!’
‘I didn’t hear you objecting at the time!’ he had flared back.
He had been angry and moody and she had felt...weird. As if he’d used her, even though she’d enjoyed every second of it and had been an active participant. She’d figured out that the best thing to do would have been to have taken herself off to her cottage and spent the night apart from him. To have given them both the space she’d suspected they needed to cool down.
