Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie Brock

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СКАЧАТЬ like iron. ‘Wow, you really have some knots there.’

      Raoul grunted as her fingers dug into muscles. ‘So how was it after I left?’ He had felt guilty as hell leaving her to cope alone. Talk about throwing her in at the deep end!

      ‘Oh, people were happy and there was plenty of booze. Actually, I left early myself.’ Lily, who was at drama college, had a screen test for a TV show the next day, so she and her mum hadn’t stayed late. Once they’d gone, Lara hadn’t known a soul and Naomi, the woman Raoul had spoken to, who had introduced herself as a family friend, had assured her that she wouldn’t be missed.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll deputise,’ she had promised as Lara had slipped away.

      Raoul’s silence made her wonder whether leaving early wasn’t a bigger thing than the other woman had suggested.

      ‘Did I do wrong? Naomi said she’d—’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure it was fine.’

      ‘Her husband is in a wheelchair?’

      ‘She was one of Lucy’s friends.’ Actually the only one he still had any contact with. ‘And Leo has MS. She’s devoted and he’s not an easy man. Ouch!’

      She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. ‘Sorry, got carried away,’ she admitted guiltily.

      He reached out and pushed his fingers into her hair. ‘You make it sound as though that is a bad thing?’

      His tone was light but the glow in his dark eyes was anything but. ‘You looked beautiful today.’ It was rare for his accent to surface; it only happened in moments of passion. ‘I’m sorry the day was ruined.’

      ‘There’s nothing to ruin. After all, it’s all make-believe, smoke and mirrors.’

      ‘Well, you played your part well.’

      ‘Did I? I don’t really remember. I was just scared that Sergio was going to collapse, and this is all about Sergio.’

      Recognising this didn’t mean that she hadn’t wondered a little about how it might feel if this were happening for real...oh, not with Raoul, obviously. When and if she ever married again she knew it would not be a man like Raoul.

      Even without the perfect-dead-wife thing there was the fact that he was the sort of man who could have any woman he wanted. She pushed away the thought—trusting him to say no was not her problem.

      ‘Yes...but here, now, it is all about us...’ His voice was a throaty caress as he leaned in until their lips were almost touching, then with slow deliberation skimmed his tongue across her mouth, tracing the full outline.

      Lara was breathless, capable of nothing but gazing at him, the longing that infiltrated every cell of her body shining in her eyes.

      ‘I’m going to be gone most of the week.’

      She ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘What will your grandfather think?’ No honeymoon was one thing, but the groom leaving his bride alone the day after the wedding...?

      ‘No problem, he understands.’ He had understood better than Raoul the massive task it was going to be to bring his knowledge up to a level where he could take the helm of the family businesses.

      That makes one of us, Lara thought, stifling a stab of irrational resentment.

      ‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’

      Hard not to contrast her calm acceptance with the reaction of a real wife. Right now he’d be being made to feel as guilty as hell—a marriage based on sex and a contract definitely had its plus points.

      ‘Feel like being carried away?’

      Lara curled her hand around his neck immediately, totally caught up again in the burning need of the moment. ‘Oh, yes, please.’

      The next morning she woke at around six feeling groggy on the couple of hours’ sleep she’d snatched between lovemaking. The space beside her in the bed was empty, but on the bedside table stood a note, her name on it in bold, slanting lettering.

      Unfolding it, she read it.

      Meeting in Geneva at noon. Calling in on the old man on the way. Any problems arise let me know. If not should be back Fri p.m.

      It was signed with a flourish—but no love.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Three months later

      LARA GAVE HERSELF over completely to the explosion of sensation as it hit, savouring the sweet release from devouring hunger.

      Still breathing hard, she forced her lids apart as Raoul rolled off her and lay next to her.

      ‘Oh, wow, that was—’

      ‘Just sex.’

      The words had pretty much the same effect as a bucket of cold water; they usually did.

      She hid her hurt in sarcasm. ‘And there was me thinking it was the start of something special, but I’m terribly grateful that you keep reminding me, because you’re so irresistible I might not be able to stop myself falling in love with you.’

      Raoul didn’t react. He just levered himself out of bed in one fluid motion and began to collect the clothes he had dropped on the floor when he had not quite made it out of the door earlier.

      ‘As you’re a god among men...a—’

      ‘Cut it out, Lara.’

      She smiled and added sourly, ‘Unfortunately no sense of humour, so that’s it, I’m afraid. I’d never fall in love with a man who can’t laugh at my jokes.’ Or for that matter a man she knew every woman he encountered imagined naked. To marry that sort of man you’d need either impregnable self-confidence or a lack of imagination.

      ‘I could never love a woman who—’ He looked into the clear green eyes laughing up at him and his half-smile vanished.

      There was nothing else to add. He could never love a woman. Love had almost destroyed him once; love was never going to enter into this or any other relationship he had.

      He had been uneasy about the sense of connection he sometimes felt until he realised this was down to the fact that, since Lucy, his time with women had been counted in nights whereas he had been sharing a bed and his body with Lara for three months. Another three and she would vanish from his life.

      Lara sensed his withdrawal. He did that so often—the sudden mood change, the broody silences—she’d stopped reacting to it.

      ‘You’ve lost a button,’ she said, watching him fasten his shirt and thinking he’d need a sense of humour or a stiff drink when she finally told him her news.

      He dragged back his dark hair with an impatient hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m late.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ