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She fell asleep again moments later, a smile on her face, her breathing rhythmic, her body naked beside his. Carlo held her tight, inhaling her sweet soapy smell.
At the age of twelve, Carlo had run away from home simply because he’d known he could no longer live under the same roof as someone like his father. He’d done it tough for years, but his intellect and determination alone had forged a successful life for him. Far greater than simply surviving, Carlo had thrived. He’d bought into Italy’s largest bank in his early twenties. A decade after turning his back on the violent criminal enterprise his father had chosen to make his life.
Carlo had respected his business instincts, and followed them faultlessly.
And every bone in his body was screaming at him that he had to find a way to keep Jane in his life.
To convince her that they could be happy together, this time around.
Could he turn the threat against her into a happy ending for them?
Carlo had no way of knowing. There was no guarantee, and only one undeniable fact. That he would regret it for the rest of his life if he did not try.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jane woke blissfully happy. Her body ached in the best possible way. She stretched her arms above her head and flopped onto her back, then angled her head to the other side of the bed.
Her happiness lasted precisely as long as it took for her to realise that Carlo was no longer there.
Pained memories of their marriage flooded back to her. How many nights had she writhed with pleasure in his arms and then woken alone? It was as if the sun had broken whatever magical spell existed between them, and dissipated completely the dependence that kept them together night after night.
She reached out and felt his pillow; it was still warm. The indent from his dark head perfectly in the centre. She lowered her hands and clasped them on top of her stomach.
What are you doing, Jane? She stared up at the ceiling with a desperate expression on her face. Leaving Carlo Santini had been the hardest thing she’d had to do. And her life had hardly been a walk in the park. How could she be so stupid as to fall back into his bed? Sure, he’d come barrelling to London in the guise of her shining night in armour, but did she really need a hero? She groaned into the empty bedroom. Three years she’d lived without him, and she’d managed to make a life for herself. So why was she letting him get under her skin all over again?
Nothing had changed. He was still the same confusing mess of impossible-to-understand, desperately gorgeous masculinity. One minute, she was his life blood, and he acted as though he couldn’t draw breath without her. The next? He was gone. Poof! Nowhere to be seen.
She propped up on her elbows and looked around the bedroom they’d once shared. Her nightgown was on the floor. She slid her legs over the side of the bed and reached for it, hooking it with her toes and lifting it back to the bed.
“Still a toe acrobat, I see,” his amused comment made her startle. She clutched the nightgown to her naked chest and spun around in the bed.
Her heart almost stopped beating at the sight of him. Carlo stood, dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a white singlet top. His dark hair was wet – she guessed he still went for his morning swims – and he was propping the door with a bare foot. Because his hands were engaged, holding a tray of food.
“What is that?” She asked, her nose crinkling as she surveyed the tray laden with food.
“Something to start the day with.” He stepped inside the room and let the door fall shut with a quiet click behind him.
Jane pulled her nightgown over her head quickly, in an attempt to hide her obvious confusion.
“The day?” She said, finally, when he didn’t elaborate.
His smile was almost as delicious looking as the selection of pastries she could see on the corner of the tray.
Carlo nodded ruefully. He placed the platter on the foot of the bed and then sat beside Jane. He picked up her hand, and ran his fingers over the empty band on her ring finger. The place her wedding jewellery had once sat.
“I want to spend the day with you, si.”
Jane stared at him as though he’d sprouted wings. “But it’s a Tuesday.”
He smiled. “I know.”
“You work on a Tuesday. In fact, you work every day.”
He laced his fingers through hers, and lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed it slowly, and Jane’s pulse began to fire in her veins. She pulled her hand away and rubbed the flesh, where his mouth had singed her.
“I am well aware that I was far from a perfect husband.”
Jane pretended to pick a piece of lint off the duvet. Her throat was thick with emotion. The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come out. He had not been a perfect husband, and the reason was obvious. Marriage shouldn’t require constant effort. Theirs had done so. Because they should never have entered into it.
