Italian Mavericks: Forbidden Nights With The Italian. Sarah Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t want to feel anything but anger yet he was sufficiently self-aware to know that his feelings were much, much more complicated than that. Yes, the anger was there and the hurt, but mixed in with those emotions was a hefty dollop of something far less easy to define but equally powerful.

       The same thing that had brought them together that night.

      ‘We’ll do what needs to be done, Fia.’ He left the statement purposefully ambiguous and pulled plates out of the cupboard. ‘We need to eat. What can I get you?’

      ‘Nothing, thank you. I think I’ll go to bed. I’ll sleep with Luca. That way, if he wakes up he won’t be frightened.’

      Santo thumped a fresh loaf of bread in the centre of the table. ‘Who is frightened, tesoro? You or him?’ He sent her a black look. ‘You think if you don’t sleep in his bed you’ll be sleeping in mine?’

      Wide green eyes fixed on his face. Those eyes that said everything her lips didn’t. The first time he’d caught her in the boathouse he’d seen misery and fear, but also defiance. Even though she hadn’t said a word, he’d had no trouble reading the message. Go on and tell. See if I care.

      He hadn’t told.

      And he knew she would have cared.

      She showed nothing, and yet he knew she was a woman who felt everything deeply. He wouldn’t have been able to list her favourite colour or whether she liked to read, but he’d never doubted the intensity of her emotions. He’d always sensed the passion in her, simmering beneath the silent surface. And eventually, of course, he’d felt it. Touched it. Tasted it. Taken it. He could clearly remember the feel of her bare skin under his seeking fingers, the scent of her as he’d kissed his way down her body, the flavour of her under his tongue.

      Sexual arousal was instant and brutal.

      He dragged his gaze from the wicked curve of her hips back to her face.

      Those green eyes had gone a shade darker and her cheeks were flushed.

      Santo strode over to the fridge and yanked open the door. Maybe he should just thrust his whole body into it, he thought savagely. He had a feeling that was the only way of cooling himself down.

      He was about to pull out a dish of caponata when another memory revealed itself. Frowning, he let go of the dish. It wasn’t true to say he knew nothing about her, was it? There was something he knew. His mouth tightening, he put the caponata back and removed pecorino and olives instead. Putting them on the table next to the bread, he gestured. ‘Eat.’

      ‘I’ve told you I’m not hungry.’

      ‘I make it a personal rule only to resuscitate one person a day so unless you want me to force-feed you, you’ll eat.’ He tore off a hunk of bread, added a slice of pecorino and some olives and pushed the plate towards her. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t like it. The fact that you love pecorino is one of the few things I do know about you.’

      A tiny frown touched her smooth brow as she stared at the plate and then back at him.

      Santo sighed. ‘When you hid in the boathouse you always brought the same food.’ For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to respond.

      ‘I didn’t want to have to go home to eat.’

      ‘You didn’t want to go home at all.’

      ‘I know.’ She gave a strangled laugh and pushed the plate away. ‘You do know this is ridiculous, don’t you? Just about the only thing you know about me is that I like pecorino and olives. And all I know about you is that you like really fast, flashy cars. And yet you’re suggesting marriage.’

      ‘I’m not suggesting marriage. I’m insisting on marriage. Your grandfather approved.’

      ‘My grandfather is old-fashioned. I’m not.’ Her eyes lifted to his. ‘I run a successful business. I can support my son. We would gain nothing from marriage.’

      ‘Luca would gain a great deal.’

      ‘He would live with two people who don’t love each other. What would he gain from that? You’re punishing me because you’re angry, but in the end you will be the one who suffers. We are not compatible.’

      ‘We know we’re compatible in the one place that counts,’ Santo said in a raw tone, ‘or we wouldn’t be in this position now.’

      Colour darkened her cheekbones. ‘You may be Sicilian, but you are far too intelligent to truly believe that all a marriage takes is good sex.’

      Santo took the chair opposite her. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you’re at least admitting it was good sex.’

      ‘You’re impossible to talk to.’

      ‘On the contrary, I’m easy to talk to. I say what I think, which is more than you do. I won’t tolerate silence, Fia. Marriages are about sharing. Everything. I don’t want a wife who locks away her feelings, so let’s get that straight now. I want all of you. Everything you are, you’re going to give it to me.’ Clearly she hadn’t expected that response from him because she turned white.

      ‘If that’s what you want, then you really do need a different wife.’

      There was a certain satisfaction in having flustered her. ‘You’ve taught yourself to be that way. That’s how you’ve survived and protected yourself. But underneath, you’re not like that. And I’m not interested in the ice maiden. I want the woman I had in my boathouse that night.’

      ‘That was … It was …’ she stumbled over the words ‘… that wasn’t me.’

      ‘Yes, it was. For a few wild hours you lost control of this persona you’ve constructed. That was the real you, Fia. It’s the rest of this that is an act.’

      ‘Everything about that night was crazy—’ her fingers were curled into her palms ‘—I don’t know how it started, but I do know how it ended.’

      ‘It ended when your brother stole my car and wrapped it around a tree.’ He’d hoped the direct approach might shake her out of her rigid control but apparently even the shock of his blunt comment couldn’t penetrate that wall she’d built around herself.

      ‘It was too powerful for him. He’d never driven anything like it before.’

      ‘Neither had I,’ Santo said icily. ‘I’d only received it two days earlier.’

      ‘That is a monumentally tactless and unfeeling thing to say.’

      Then show some emotion. ‘About as tactless and unfeeling as the wordless implication that I was in some way responsible for his death.’

      There was a throbbing silence. ‘I have never said that.’

      ‘No, but you’ve thought it. And your grandfather thought it. You say you don’t know me, so learn this about me right now—I’m not good with undercurrents or people who hide what they’re really thinking and I sure as hell am not going to feed this damn feud that we’ve both grown up with. It ends СКАЧАТЬ