The Passionate Italian 11 DECEMBER EPUB (4 page)

“You can’t trust what you don’t believe to be real.”

“Touch me. Am I not real?”

He pulled her hand roughly into his and held it tightly for a moment before dropping it back to her side.

“Am I not real, cara mia?” he repeated.

She nodded. “Of course you are.”

“Then, you can trust in me.”

She jerked back her hand. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Come, it’s time for bed.”

“For work you mean.”

“Of course.” He grinned that rare grin that could flip her stomach at a thousand paces.

Rose swilled the remains of her second glass of wine before swallowing it, desperately trying to calm her gathering nerves.
 

She’d lived with Giovanni for barely a year but during that time, if they weren’t parted through work, a day hadn’t gone by without them making love at least once. The idea of them being together in a bedroom without loving each other was laughable.

But she wasn’t laughing.

“Your skin is flushed.” He raised his finger to her neck and dragged it down, stopping just short of her black t-shirt. “Too much wine perhaps?”

“I’ve had two glasses.”

“The thought of being alone with your husband then?”

She contented herself with a glare.

His fingers dipped under her t-shirt and scooped out a necklace from her cleavage.

“What is this? I haven’t seen it before.”

He rubbed the small, intricately wrought greenstone knot between his fingers. “A present?”

She could hear the old familiar tension in his voice. She took pity on him.

“You’ve done your homework, you know that there were no lovers. Although it’s none of your business.”

The jealousy that lay like a fist in the pit of his gut uncoiled. She was correct. His informants hadn’t found any trace of attachment, romantic or otherwise. Still, he wanted to hear it from her.

“I need to know everything about you. It could affect your work.”

“And that’s all you’re interested in now.”

He smiled. “So tell me about the necklace. A gift or a purchase?”

She pulled the necklace away from her body and rubbed it against her palm. “A gift. From local Maori. I worked with them a little.”

“Ah, yes, your scholarships for the girls.”

“Life’s not easy for some people.”

“I understand that the recipients never met you. It was all done online. So determined were you to avoid emotional engagement of any kind.”

“What I did and how I did it is no concern of yours.”

“And what would happen to these scholarships if you were to break your contract?”

He felt the full effect of her glare. “You know full well I can’t afford to let that happen.”

He smiled briefly at her anger. He relished her display of emotion, even if it was only anger.

“Then we will make sure your little girls are able to study. But tell me, I am curious. Why no men in your life? Did you last lover put you off?”

“Who?”

“The person you left me for.”

“I—”

“Don’t deny it. Why else would you leave me?”

She shook her head, whether in denial or because she refused to answer his question, he could not tell.

He paced away from her then. The thought of her with someone else made him crazy. He took a deep breath before risking turning around to face her, determined to keep his words low and controlled.
 

“Tell me!”

Rose shook her head again. She knew that just one word would unleash that control with devastating consequences.

“You won’t tell me? Why? Trying to protect someone?”

“Yes.” She held his gaze, willing him to understand that it was
him
that she was protecting: wanting him to do what he’d never been able to do before—suspend his overwhelming need to own everything about her and see beyond it—to where the truth lay.

But there was no understanding, only a scornful look that showed her exactly how little he cared for her. It was all simply a matter of pride.

“You left me because of another man.”

“Stop it, Giovanni. Stop it.”

“I should never have left you alone those last six months. I knew it. But you insisted.” He turned with a look of disdain on his face. “So much for your declarations of love, you probably couldn’t wait to fall into someone else’s arms. Shame you didn’t choose your boyfriend with more care. Your feelings obviously weren’t reciprocated.”

“Giovanni! It wasn’t like that.”

“Rose, it must have been, because there is only one reason why you will not tell me the truth. And that is because I will not like it.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “And, I do not like it.”
 
He turned helplessly away before facing her once more. “Go. Go to bed.”

She rose and shakily walked to the bedroom. She closed the door softly behind her and climbed into cool sheets and cried like she hadn’t cried since she’d left Italy.

CHAPTER THREE

“Rose.”

His voice—distant and yet penetrating—filtered into her dream and became a part of it.

She smiled at him, searching for a response, but it was as if he couldn’t see her. He called to her again, turning his head, searching but unable to find her. And yet she was standing directly in front of him. So close that she could see the panic in his eyes. But she was unable to quell it. Her voice was dumb and her body invisible to him. Blank terror seized her and she tried to grab his arms, tried to bring his body against hers.

She relaxed when her arm clutched heated skin. She could feel him. It would be all right. She leant in against him and could have wept with relief.

“Rose.” The voice came again. “Rose, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

The dream faded slowly and the reality of the low roar of the jet filled her ears. She was still trembling with the fear of her dream, fear of losing him. It wasn’t the first time she’d had the dream. She’d usually awoken to find herself outside on the beach, her body chilled by the night air and sea spray.

She was suddenly aware of the warmth of his body against her cheek, of his arm around her, protecting, caressing. She cried out as the intensity of her dreams collided with the intensity of her reality. She pushed herself away from him and he let his arm drop.

“I’m sorry.” She thrust one shaking hand over her face and through her hair, desperate to regain her composure.

“You cannot help your dreams cara mia. Lie down again. Rest.”

“Stupid,” shaking her head. “Just a stupid dream.”

“It must have been a bad one, you were scared of something. What was it?”
 

She shook her head. How could she tell him that she was scared of being nothing to him, of losing him, when that was what she’d sought two years ago when she’d left him.

“Nothing.” She looked up at him suddenly. “Did I say anything when I was asleep?”

“No. And you did not sleepwalk either. Must be the first time. I used to enjoy your nightly excursions.”

She felt herself blush at the memory. Embarrassment at being caught sleepwalking had always been followed swiftly by love-making, wherever she’d happened to wander.

“I’m glad someone did.”

He reached out and tucked a long, curling strand of hair tidily behind her ear. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy making love with me, Rose, because I won’t believe you. You wanted me always.” His eyes lazily searched her face, confident and amused. “Even now, behind this cool façade, you want me still.”

“In your dreams.”

“No, cara, in yours.”

He smiled, and with his fingertips swiftly traced the curve of her face, her cheekbone, down to her mouth. Here, his smile dropped suddenly and Rose saw the dark of his eyes widen. Her breath quickened in response. His eyes flicked up to hers and they stayed, without movement, close, but held separate by conflicting powers, like two opposing magnets.

A short sharp knock at the door broke the spell and Rose pulled herself up in the bed, away from Giovanni.

She watched as he exchanged a few words with the steward at the door before returning to a sofa in the corner of the room.

 
What the hell was he doing here anyway? She’d gone to bed alone under the impression that Giovanni would be staying in the main cabin. And she didn’t remember pulling the duvet across herself. She was just thankful that she hadn’t undressed.

She pushed the duvet off and glared across the dimly-lit cabin at Giovanni.

“How long have you been there?”
 

“Several hours.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Watching you.”

“Not the world’s most exciting spectator sport.”
 

“With you it is. I never know what you will say or do—awake or asleep. It can be very entertaining.”

She glared at him.

“And, I was also thinking.”

“Aren’t you tired?” she asked quickly in a desperate attempt to change the subject. She really didn’t want to know what he was thinking about.

“Concerned about what I might be thinking?”

“Concerned that you’re tired and that I’m occupying the only available bed.”

“Yes, I might have joined you but you really leave little room for guests. It’s curious how someone as short as yourself can manage to spread yourself across the king-size bed, just as you used to.”

“I’m accustomed to sleeping by myself. Certainly not used to being fussed over. Did you put the covers over me?”

He nodded. “The air conditioning has been turned down. You would be cold otherwise.”

“I can look after myself.” The words of independence sprang to her lips from habit. But it wasn’t how she felt. She felt cared for, for the first time since she’d left him.
 

“
That
has never been in any doubt.”

She sighed and relaxed back on the bed. How could she remain angry with this man when he was so damned considerate? It was enough to make her angry again.

 
She eyed him quizzically. “So what other things about me are in doubt?”

He stood up and walked over to her slowly—each step creating a corresponding shiver down her spine. What was it about him, she wondered, that made her
feel
so acutely. His dark eyes seemed to have such depths, such knowledge of her, that all her senses went into overdrive while her capacity for thought disappeared altogether.
 

“I thought I knew you well, once, but I knew little. I have been watching you, trying to understand.”

Her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest.

“There’s not much to understand.”

“Don’t be disingenuous. I’m not interested in facile banter.”

“Well,” she smiled brightly at him, hoping she’d be able to deflect his serious turn of thought. “Shame. Because I’m not interested in the serious stuff.”

“Then go back to sleep. You look tired still.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, away from him.

“No, I’m fine. I haven’t slept that well in a long time.”

“It is because I am with you.”

She grinned, despite herself. “I’ve missed your macho confidence.”

She walked past him to pour herself a glass of water. She felt his eyes on her but willed herself not to react.

“Have you cara?”

She took a long, studied drink of the water.

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’ve missed many things.”

“Like?”

“Italian cheese.”

“Cheese. That’s it?”

He stood up, took the water from her and placed it back on the table.

“That’s all I can think of at the moment.”

“Would you like to know what I missed?”

She shook her head slightly and licked her lips, suddenly dry with anticipation.

“No thank you.”

He cupped his hand around her cheek.

She closed her eyes, trying to keep her thoughts straight. “Giovanni. Please. You take the bed, let me get on with some work.”

“Work can wait. Besides I need little sleep.”

She could tell he was thinking the same thoughts as she was, by the blaze of desire in his eyes. For someone who’d needed so little sleep, they’d spent a lot of time in the bedroom.

She couldn’t move. She desperately needed him to move away from her.

“So you don’t want me to work. How exactly do you propose we spend the next twenty hours or so?”

He dropped his hand and she released her breath, not realizing that she’d been holding it.

“I need to know you again.”

His voice sent chills down her spine. There was an uncertainty evident in the rougher tone that she’d never heard before.

Her pulse raced at the implications of his words, their ambiguity, their potential.
 

“Why?”

He shook his head. “No more questions.”

“It can’t all be on your terms. Tell me. What do you need to know about me, that you don’t already?”

His brow dipped into a brief frown, his dark eyes darkening even further as if a shadow had passed over them.
 

“Consider it an interview—a prolonged interview. There are things I wish to know and which I will discover. We’ll begin now but it won’t end tonight.”

“When then?”

“When I discover what I need to know.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It is
my
question I wish answered. Now get back into bed again.”

She shivered, confused and doubtful.

“Ask me whatever it is. Let’s get this over with.”

“There is no rush.” He moved to the phone and ordered some drinks. “We have all the time in the world.”

She sat down before her legs gave way beneath her.

“That time is gone, Giovanni, don’t you understand? The time for talking, for listening, for understanding—it’s gone.”

“You refused to do talk to me before, you gave us no time. Now, here is your chance.”

“A chance I don’t wish to take.”

“You have no choice.”

A discrete knock at the door was followed by the steward bringing in drinks and snacks. He laid them out on the coffee table and left without raising his eyes or talking. He was too well trained and well paid—too used to attending to his boss in a bedroom with sundry women—to make small talk, Rose supposed. Besides, the tension in the air was palpable.