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Why had he kissed her? He hadn’t meant to. The plan had been to take things slow and easy, to tease her and tempt her and wait for her to give into her passionate nature again and come to him.
But then she’d stood there in front of him, insisting that he couldn’t possibly want her, and all the frustration that he’d been keeping a lid on smashed through the barrier of his will power, and he’d been the one to crack. Not her.
And now he had an erection the size of the Eiffel Tower pressing against the button fly of his jeans to go with his foul mood.
‘Stop changing the subject,’ she said.
‘The only subject I’m interested in is you and me getting naked.’ If he’d expected the surly tone to send her packing, he’d been sadly mistaken.
She tilted her head, regarded him with those clear blue eyes that saw much more than he wanted them to. ‘Why can’t you admit that meeting your grandfather is a big deal?’
He heaved a sigh. Why couldn’t she give this a rest? ‘Because it’s not,’ he said, deciding not to correct her once again about the spurious nature of his relationship to the man. Vincenzo De Rossi wasn’t his grandfather, any more than Leonardo De Rossi had been his father.
Sure that look of recognition, of stunned affection and hope on the old guy’s face in the library had unnerved him. But only because he hadn’t been expecting it. And because it had brought with it an unpleasant revelation about his relationship with his mother.
Until Eva had mentioned it, it had never even occurred to him that he might bear a physical resemblance to the De Rossis. The thought had made him uncomfortable. But what had been worse was the jolt of memory, when the look in De Rossi’s eyes had reminded him of what he’d often seen in his mother’s eyes. It had been the same damn look of recognition, but with one crucial difference—instead of the hope, the excitement, the stunned pleasure he’d seen in De Rossi’s eyes, what he’d always glimpsed in his mother’s eyes had been despair and regret. He’d refused to acknowledge it as a boy, had always just strived harder to please her, in the hope that one day she would look at him the same way she looked at his sister Ruby.
His mother had never been cruel to him, never been deliberately unkind, if anything she’d let him get away with a great deal more than his sister, but there had always been this distance between them. Her affection for him had always felt guarded, dutiful, and so unlike the full, rich, boundless love she’d lavished on her husband and her daughter. And he’d never understood why. Until now.
Today, in the Alegria Palazzo’s library, while Vincenzo De Rossi had stared at him with tears in his eyes, he’d finally understood why his mother had always found it so hard to love him. Because as he’d grown older, and begun to resemble Leonardo more and more, she would have become painfully aware that he was Leonardo’s son. When she’d looked at him, all she had ever seen was the evidence of her sin.
His mother had died years ago, an excruciatingly painful death. She’d told Carmine the truth about his parentage on her deathbed. Two years later he’d run away from home. Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to run far enough and the destructive anger—much of it aimed at his mother—had followed him around for years. But he’d eventually come to terms with it and moved on. He’d forgiven his mother—so none of this was a big deal, not any more.
Unfortunately, from the sympathy he could see shining in Eva’s eyes, she was obviously on a mission to share and discuss. Not something he had any intention of doing.
Seeing her mussed hair, and the rash on her chin where his stubble had burned, it occurred to him that there was a much more effective way of changing the subject.
Gripping the hem of his T-shirt, he lifted it over his head and flung it on the bed.
Heat soared in her cheeks, making the tiny sprinkle of freckles across her nose stand out. A spontaneous smile edged his lips. Her eyes had glazed over with stunned arousal, exactly as they had when he’d taken his sweater off in the garage of his apartment two weeks ago.
She might have lived her life like a nun up to now, but the bad girl was well and truly out of the bag, if that look and the kiss they had just shared were anything to go by. All he had to do now was get a stranglehold on his emotions and not crack first again—if he wanted to keep the upper hand in this seduction. And he damn well did.
‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘We’re having a conversation.’
‘You may be. I’m not.’ He rubbed his palm over his chest. She followed the movement with rapt attention, her tongue peeping out to moisten her bottom lip. The jolt of arousal felt good this time. He was in charge again, in control.
He eased open the first button of his jeans, watched her eyes dart down. ‘I’m shattered and I’m taking a shower.’ He popped another button.
‘You can’t,’ she said, a little too breathlessly.
His erection swelled back to life under her attentive gaze. ‘And after my shower, I’m going to bed.’
‘But we haven’t finished talking about…’ Her voice dried up as the third button went.
‘If you want to join me—you’re more than welcome.’ He ran his hand across his belly, eased his fingers down, under the waistband of his boxers.
Her gaze shot to his face, the colour in her cheeks now radioactive, and the flare of arousal unmistakeable.
‘But I should warn you, there’s not going to be a lot of talking,’ he added.
‘I…’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ she murmured and shot off towards the connecting door as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.
The first genuine laugh he’d had all day echoed after her.
Eva Redmond might not be a convenient distraction, but she was a really entertaining one.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
