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Didn’t she owe him?
Didn’t she owe it to herself to get out of this rut and embrace what the world had to offer?
She packed a small case, took a stunningly scenic train journey along the Cornish Riviera and, after jumping in a cab, was driven to a low-key but unbelievably chic hotel, overlooking the blue-grey waves of the Atlantic. She showered, pinned up her hair, put on her working uniform of white shirt, black skirt, and matching jacket and slithered into the back of the taxi the hotel had ordered for her.
‘You going up to Morwind, are you?’ said the driver, when she gave him the address. ‘Beautiful place. They say the sea views from there are the best in the county.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ she answered politely, before lapsing into silence, because Nicola wasn’t in the mood for conversation. She was trying very hard to compose herself for what lay ahead. Because the statue had been bought by a man for his wife and, stupidly, that hurt. How he must love her to have such an expensive piece shipped here, as a surprise. Suddenly she couldn’t stop wondering whether she had sold herself short. Had she made herself too available to a man she’d always known would one day cast her aside?
But defining relationships in that way was insane. She hadn’t been seduced beneath that gleaming bronze because she hadexpectedanything from Alessio. She had done it because she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Because he had consumed her senses in every way. Because she had adored him. Truth was, she still did. It wasn’thisfault he didn’t feel the same way. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And even though her foolish heart was badly shattered she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single second of it.
‘Here you go,’ said the driver, pulling up outside a large, contemporary clifftop house which somehow looked as if it had been there since the beginning of time. She could see at once what the driver had meant about the view, but it was more than that which made it beautiful. There was a sense of being close to the elements—of being part of the sea and the sky. As the cab drove away Nicola watched the swell of the crest-fringed waves and listened to them crashing on the rocks below.
But she couldn’t stand there for ever. Time to meet the romantic Ross Fleming and, possibly, his wife.
Despite the modern architecture, there was an old-fashioned brass knocker. But her knock went unanswered for so long that Nicola wondered whether it could be heard in such a large house. She was just about to try again when suddenly the door opened and the sight which greeted her was so far off her scale of reality that she actually dropped her handbag and didn’t bother picking it up as she stared into eyes as blue as a summer sea.
Alessio looked more casual than she’d ever seen him. His jeans were faded and a dark cashmere sweater clung softly to the honed definition of his torso. His hair was longer, too—ruffled ebony locks framing the slashed contours of his features, so that he had something of the pirate about him. But the blue eyes were exactly the same—brilliant and blazing and beautiful—and Nicola’s first instinct was to cry and laugh all at the same time, because it was so incredibly good to see him.
But she didn’t do either. She was too busy trying to stop herself from trembling. Howdarehe set up such a meeting? Was this intended to give him some sort of sadistic pleasure—extracting a cruel revenge for having deceived him? She set her mouth into what she hoped was a forbidding line, because he had hurt her once but he damned well wasn’t going to get the chance to hurt her again.
‘Is this some sort of set-up between you and Sergio?’ she demanded coldly.
‘Sergio knows nothing about it.’
‘I’m looking for Ross Fleming.’
‘I am Ross Fleming.’
‘Really? I thought your name was Alessio di Bari.’
‘Fleming is a pseudonym.’
‘For the purchase of bronze statues, presumably?’
His sensual lips curved with the hint of a smile. ‘Well, yes.’
She made herself say it and suddenly her cool mask slipped, because how could you remain composed while uttering words which felt as corrosive as battery fuel on your lips? ‘For yourwife.’
Alessio could see the incomprehension on her face and wondered whether his grand gesture might have failed spectacularly, particularly as the hurt in her eyes had been replaced by a growing anger. ‘Nicola—’
‘Have you brought me all the way out here to rub my nose in it?’ she declared, giving a furious toss of her gleaming blonde head. ‘You didn’t waste any time, did you, Alessio? How long have you been married for? Did you find someone as soon as we’d split, or had there been someone in the background all along? Why, the ink must barely be dry on the certificate!’
From a purely aesthetic point of view, he thought how magnificent she looked when she was filled with rage, but suddenly Alessio realised he needed to act quickly if he wanted to appease her, and he did. He wanted that more than anything. ‘Please, Nicola. The wind is strong. Come inside.’
‘If you think I’m setting foot inside your house then you are very much mistaken. You really think I’m prepared to face your wife? What do you think I’m made of, Alessio,stone?’
On the contrary. Alessio swallowed. She was all magnificent creamy flesh and stormy grey eyes—and currently in the process of bending to retrieve her handbag from the step, presumably to ring for a cab to take her away as quickly as possible. And he realised then that half measures would get him nowhere. If he wanted her, he had to lay it on the line. To tell her. She needed to know how he felt. About her. About them. Yet how did a man break the habit of a lifetime and begin to articulate feelings he’d never dared confront before?
He sucked in an unsteady breath. ‘There is no wife. The statue is for you, Nicola.’ He paused. ‘Only for you.’
She looked at him blankly. ‘For me? What are you talking about?’
‘I said it was for my wife and it is. But only if you are prepared to be my wife, for you are the only woman I would ever contemplate marrying. Because... I love you,’ he said and suddenly his words were gruff. ‘My clever, strong, proud, brave Nicola. I love you so very much.’
She was still eying him with frowning suspicion. ‘Weren’t you supposed to say thatbeforeyou asked me to marry you?’
‘I don’t know what I am supposed to say!’ he declared, lifting his hands in exasperation, in as vulnerable a moment as he’d ever shared with another person. ‘Because you have thrown me into a state of confusion from the moment I first laid eyes on you. You are chaos theory personified! You fascinated me. Infuriated me. Intrigued me. I never knew where I was with you.’
