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CONTROL.
For the last four days he’d been trying to cling on to it, and every day it miraculously came to him. Because it had to. Because she was here, and she was carrying his baby. She was safe in his palace on the sea. He would feed her, dress her, listen to her. But he would not take her to his bed.
He wouldn’t lose control again in the delicate contours of her skin. Would not kiss the freckles on the bridge of her nose as he counted eyelashes so long he didn’t understand their growth.
He couldn’t keep her safe if he did that, could he? If he allowed himself to get too deep, to feel too much?
But every day her eyes begged. Moved over him at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner. With agonisingwantin her eyes.
And by God, he wanted too. Pulsed with it as he answered questions about his hotels, his renovations, his ability to strip things apart and put them back together. About how the deconstruction of something whole could reveal its secrets.
The Priato—his hotel in London—had many such secrets. Not only the secret door she’d found, but tunnels and concealed rooms. She’d asked if he would take her back there, to the place they’d met, and reveal them to her. Expose the secrets the previous owner had concealed from all but a select few.
She’d asked for more details about his business, about Russo Renovations’ global allure. And he’d answered. He’d nodded or shaken his head when she’d asked about his family. No, she couldn’t meet them. He had none. No cousins, no aunts—just him.
It had always just been him. On the outside looking in. The generosity of the community had given him a bowl or two of freshly made pasta covered in home-made passata to take home, but no one had ever invited him to sit at their table.
She’d told him stories of her life as she sat beside him on the sofa, a blanket pulled up to her chin. She’d left her feet exposed, dangling her toes over the edge, wiggling them. Cute little digits he’d longed to reach for. To apply pressure to the ball of her foot. Massage the flesh.
He hadn’t touched her feet. He had not touchedher. But he had listened. And that was new to him. Because he never listened. Not to the women he took to bed. Not to the women who hung on his arm, adorned in the glittering diamonds and jewels he presented them with before he shooed them away. Bored when his sexual appetite had diminished.
It was not diminished for her.
His hunger for her had intensified.
But he’d made himself pay attention to Flora’s words and not her body. Because he’d wanted to hear them. Her words. Her voice. And she liked to talk...to ask questions.
She’d told him of her life on the farm. Of cousins. Of aunts and uncles. Growing up with a family. Birthdays, Christmases, holidays together as a family.
Hisfamily now. Supposedly. Because of the child growing inside her.
The sky rumbled. His already white knuckles clenched harder around the metal rail. He looked up and let the rain, which had only been a drizzle moments ago, beat down on his face and closed his eyes.
He prayed for control now.
‘Sir?’
The boat rocked, but he did not loosen his grip. He turned to his captain, his jaw set, and readied himself.
His captain’s eyes were wide and unblinking, and he said, ‘We still can’t find her, sir.’
A roar bloomed inside him. Puffing out his chest. ‘Three hundred feet of space and you can’t find her? You navigate across the sea,’ he said, his chest burning, his voice hoarse. ‘Multiple decks above and below sea level are under your control. Every technological device is at your disposal to locate land, some off the map. You have twenty staff below you in rank to support you. And yet—’ he swallowed down the fury in his throat ‘—you cannot locate one woman?’
The captain held out his umbrella for Raffaele. He pushed it away, let the elements which were accelerating in speed punish his body.
Because he deserved to be punished, didn’t he?
He’d lost her.
Misplaced a whole woman.
‘She’s still aboard the ship.’
‘You know this?’ he countered. The wind carried his voice to create a formidable growl. ‘You can report this as a fact?’
‘Anchor dropped less than an hour ago.’
‘And not everyone is accounted for,’ he interjected cuttingly.
