To Wear His Ring Again (11 page)

‘I heard a noise.' Her brow wrinkled as a memory pushed up from her subconscious. ‘Why were you shouting?'

‘I knocked over the damned water jug. I'm sorry,
cara
, I didn't realise I'd cursed so loudly.'

She looked at him doubtfully, not quite believing his explanation. ‘I thought I heard you say, “He meant to kill her,” or...or something like that.' She had a vague recollection of hearing those curious words some time in the past. ‘Do you still suffer from nightmares like you did two years ago at Casa Celeste?' She wished it were light enough for her to be able to see his face clearly. She looked over at his bedside table and felt even more puzzled when she made out the water jug standing upright.

‘I think
you
must have been dreaming.' His breathing had slowed to a normal rate and he sounded amused.

Isobel frowned. ‘I'm sure I wasn't.' It was becoming harder to think when he was nuzzling her neck. She tried to push him away but her hand somehow crept up to his shoulder as he trailed soft kisses down her throat and the slopes of her breasts. Her nipples were ultra-sensitive from his earlier caresses, and she caught her breath as he anointed each tender pink tip with his tongue.

‘Constantin...' She fought the swift rush of desire that swept through her, trying to focus on the reason why he had called out. One of them had been dreaming, and she was certain it wasn't her. But his hand was between her legs, and a little moan escaped her as he unerringly found her clitoris and with skilful fingers took her swiftly to a place where only exquisite sensation existed. When he bent his dark head and replaced his fingers with his mouth, she instinctively arched her hips and quivered like a slender bow under intolerable tension before she experienced the sweet ecstasy of release. But hazily, in the back of her mind, was the thought that he had deliberately set out to distract her.

As the cool grey of pre-dawn turned to iridescent shades of pink and palest gold Constantin watched the hands on the clock move unhurriedly towards six a.m. From outside the window he could hear the pigeons cooing, the faint rumble of traffic that would grow louder as the Eternal City woke to a new day.

There was no chance he could fall back to sleep now, thank goodness. But his nightmare had been so vivid that he broke out in a cold sweat as he recalled the details. He had dreamed of two figures standing on a balcony. Not the balcony of the tower at Casa Celeste, but here at the penthouse. And the figures were not his father and Lorena, but
him
and Isobel.

She was tossing her hair, laughing as she teased him that she preferred the handsome waiter at the restaurant to him.
Basta!
Her taunts filled him with rage.
Violent rage—seething up inside him like boiling lava inside a volcano.
He reached out his hand...and then she was falling, falling.

Mio Dio!
It was just a dream, Constantin told himself. It did not mean anything. He turned his head and stared at Isobel's face on the pillow beside him. She was so beautiful. His gut clenched. He shouldn't have brought her to Rome. He had wanted to protect her while the stalker was still at large, but perhaps his dream was a warning that she was in as much danger from
him
.

CHAPTER NINE

I
SOBEL
MOVED
AWAY
from a group of noisy tourists outside the Church of Sant'Agnese in Agone and held her phone closer to her ear. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.'

‘I said, do you remember that we've been invited to the Bonuccis' party tonight, to celebrate the opening of their new hotel?'

Constantin's sexy voice made her toes curl, and she took a steadying breath before replying. ‘I haven't forgotten,' she said drily. She had been in Rome for a week, and tonight's party would be the fifth social event that she and Constantin had attended. They barely spent any time alone, she reflected. He worked all day and returned home late, just in time to shower and change before they went out for the evening. It was always past midnight before they arrived back at the penthouse and Constantin invariably seemed to have a reason not to come straight to bed until she had fallen asleep.

It would be easy to think that he was trying to avoid her. That was what the insecure Isobel from two years ago would have believed, she acknowledged ruefully. But she was older, and hopefully wiser, and instead of leaping to conclusions she reminded herself that Constantin was the CEO of one of Italy's most prominent businesses and socialising and networking were part of his job.

‘You should receive a delivery today.' Over the phone line she heard him hesitate. ‘I bought you a dress to wear tonight.'

‘It's already been delivered, and it's beautiful, thank you.'

‘You don't mind?'

She sensed his surprise. In the past she had always been uptight when he'd bought her presents, and although she had politely thanked him her words had been stilted. It was little wonder that he'd felt rebuffed by her, Isobel brooded.

‘I'm glad you like it,' Constantin told her. ‘I saw the dress on display in a shop window and immediately knew it would suit you.'

‘If you're home in time, I'll model it exclusively for you,' she murmured.

There was a pregnant pause. ‘I'm sorry,
cara,
I have a late meeting scheduled. Can you be ready to leave for the party at seven-thirty?'

‘Con...' Discovering that he had cut the call, she dropped her phone into her bag and started walking back to the apartment. Her brow wrinkled. Something was going on that she did not understand. The few times that they'd had sex it had been amazing for both of them. Constantin could not have faked his groans of pleasure as he'd come inside her.

Nor was it conceivable that he had become bored of her already. He was always up and dressed when she woke in the mornings, but she'd seen the way he looked at her with a feral gleam in his eyes and she knew he wanted to join her back in bed. So why didn't he? Was he under pressure at work, or was something else bothering him?

She sighed as she let herself into the penthouse. Maybe, like her, he was wondering where their relationship was going. By silent, mutual agreement they hadn't discussed the state of their marriage, but Constantin had not refuted reports in the Italian media that they were reconciled, and there had been several photos of them together in the newspapers.

He arrived home at ten past seven and walked into the bedroom to find her in her underwear as she was getting changed for the party. To Isobel's astonishment dull colour flared on his cheekbones as he studied her black lace thong and matching push-up bra, before he muttered something incomprehensible and shot into the bathroom like a one-hundred-metre sprinter.

Enough was enough, Isobel decided. When her virile, stallion of a husband started acting like a shy virgin, it was time to demand some answers.

Constantin stiffened when he felt two slender arms wrap around his waist. Isobel had stepped behind him in the shower cubicle but the noise of the spray had muffled her arrival, and now he was in trouble. Stiff was an apt description of a certain part of his anatomy, he thought derisively. He did not need to glance down to know that he was massively aroused, and her throaty murmur of approval made a bad situation even worse.

All week, he had tried to keep his distance from her. His nightmare had scared the hell out of him. Isobel was the only woman who stirred blood-boiling jealousy in his gut. Look how he had reacted to the waiter! The guy had only smiled at her but Constantin had wanted to rip his head off.

He did not want to feel the possessive, manic jealousy that had gripped his father. He did not want to
feel
any emotions. Somehow he had to get whatever it was he felt for Isobel under control, but every time he made love to her he felt himself slipping deeper beneath her sensual spell. The solution, he'd concluded, was to resist the temptation of her gorgeous body. But her hands were creating havoc and ruining his good intentions.

He couldn't restrain a groan as she skimmed her fingers over his stomach and thighs and along the length of his arousal. ‘Isa...bella,' he said through gritted teeth, ‘we don't have time before the party.' He made a last-ditch attempt to stop her roving hands.

She slipped round in front of him and kissed his lips. ‘It doesn't start until eight o'clock. You must have misread the invitation.' She wrapped her fingers around him and gave him a smile of pure witchery. ‘Anyway I have a feeling this won't take long.'

Constantin sucked in a harsh breath as she dropped to her knees and replaced her hands with her mouth.
Madonna
, how could he fight his gut-aching desire for her when she was running her tongue lightly over the sensitive tip? It was all he could do not to spill his seed into her mouth. Only a man with ice running through his veins could resist his beautiful, generous,
bold
Isobel. But Constantin's blood was on fire. Giving a muffled curse, he lifted her into his arms and as she hooked her legs around his waist he entered her with a deep thrust that drove them both close to the edge.

It was urgent and intense, and it couldn't last. After a week of sexual frustration, the excitement of their primitive coupling was electrifying. Isobel dug her fingernails into Constantin's bunched shoulders, anchoring herself to him as he cupped her bottom and pumped into her with hard, fast strokes until she sobbed his name over and over. Her man, her master, she belonged to him and he claimed her utterly, bringing her to a shattering orgasm that sent shudders of indescribable pleasure through her body. His climax was no less spectacular, and at the exquisite moment of release he threw his head back and let out a savage groan before burying his face against her throat while their hearts thundered in unison.

Afterwards Isobel had to rush to get ready for the party. Luckily she had gained a light golden tan from a week in the Italian sunshine and needed nothing more than a coat of mascara to define her eyelashes and a slick of rose-coloured gloss on her lips.

‘You look stunning,' Constantin commented quietly when she joined him in the lounge. She had already taken his breath away once this evening, but the sight of her in the floor-length scarlet silk gown held in place with narrow diamanté shoulder straps evoked a curious tightness in his chest.

‘It's a beautiful dress.' She did a little twirl in front of the mirror and threw him an impish smile. ‘I have a present for you.'

He gave her an intent look as she handed him a black leather box with the distinctive DSE logo embossed on the lid. The platinum wrist watch nestled on a velvet cushion was the most prestigious and expensive watch in the DSE range, and it happened to be his personal favourite.

‘You told me that your watch had developed a fault and needed to be repaired. I thought you might like this one to replace the old one.'

‘I don't know what to say.' Constantin was aware of a curious scratchiness in his throat. He knew exactly how much the watch was worth in financial terms, but even more touching was the fact that Isobel had chosen this particular model from the collection for him. He smiled. ‘This is the first present I've been given since I was eight years old.'

‘Apart from Christmas and birthday presents, I suppose you mean.'

‘My father didn't believe in celebrating holidays or personal milestones after my mother died.' His voice became reflective. ‘
Madre
gave me a model of a sports car for my eighth birthday. Her cancer was untreatable by then and she died a few weeks later.'

Isobel was struck by the lack of emotion in his voice. She was reminded of when she'd had the miscarriage and he had been so matter-of-fact. ‘It must have been a terribly sad time for you and your father when your mother died,' she said softly.

For a fleeting moment an indefinable expression crossed his face, but he shrugged and said levelly, ‘Life goes on.' He slid the watch onto his wrist. ‘Thank you. This is the best present I've ever received.'

* * *

Considering that the only other present Constantin had been given was a toy car when he was eight, his enthusiasm for the watch she had bought him was not surprising, Isobel mused later that evening.

She glanced around the packed ballroom of the five-star hotel that had been refurbished by the fabulously wealthy Bonucci family. The décor was opulent and unashamedly luxurious and the guests at the opening party included many of the social elite not just from Rome but across Europe. It was the sort of event that she had dreaded when she had first married Constantin. She had felt awkward and out of place among his sophisticated friends and had convinced herself that they regarded her as a cheap gold-digger.

Despite the fact that she now had a successful career and had ‘made it' some of those old, insecure feelings returned as Constantin escorted her around the ballroom and introduced her to the other guests. Their exquisite manners when they greeted her did not disguise the speculative glances they gave her as Constantin slipped his arm around her waist. Isobel told herself she was imagining the coolness she sensed from one or two of the guests, but when Constantin murmured in her ear that he had spotted a business associate he wanted to speak to, she had to fight the temptation to cling to his arm as she had done in the past.

She reminded herself that she had attended countless parties and functions in the past two years and could hold her own in any social situation. She did not need Constantin as a prop. But the sight of a familiar figure making a beeline for her across the ballroom made her heart sink.

‘Isobel! I must admit that I did not expect to see
you
here tonight.' Ghislaine Montenocci had recently married, and pictures of her fabulous wedding to a French duke had filled the pages of a well-known celebrity magazine. ‘My husband, Duc Alphonse de Cavarre, is over there,' she lost no time in telling Isobel, waving her hand towards a sandy-haired man who looked a good twenty years older than his new wife. Isobel wondered if the social-climbing Ghislaine had been attracted to her husband's title.

‘I heard rumours that you and Constantin had reconciled, but I didn't believe it. You must be
so
relieved that he has taken you back.'

Ghislaine's name had changed with her marriage, but unfortunately her personality hadn't, Isobel mused, recalling the other woman's nasty comment that when she had married Constantin she had secured a meal ticket for life.

The insecure Isobel of three years ago had been overawed by Ghislaine, but now she smiled coolly. ‘Why relieved?' she queried.

‘Well, I would have thought that, having managed to marry a billionaire, you wouldn't want to lose him,' Ghislaine said cattily.

‘As a matter of fact, Constantin supported my decision to establish my singing career during the past two years.' It was laughably far from the truth, but Isobel refused to be beaten by Ghislaine. ‘I think it is so important for women to have aspirations and a
purpose
in life, rather than simply being a wife, don't you agree?' Isobel guessed that Ghislaine had never done a day's work in her life, and, although it was not in her nature to be unkind, she could not help feeling a little sense of victory when the other woman flushed. ‘A strong marriage is one where both partners are able to fulfil their dreams. I admit that I am proud of my career success.'

‘So you should be.' Constantin's deep voice behind her made Isobel jump, and her heart did that annoying leap that it always did when he slid his arm around her waist and gave her a sexy smile before he spoke to Ghislaine.

‘Isobel and her band the Stone Ladies are amazing, aren't they? I am incredibly proud of my talented wife.'

Ghislaine muttered something about needing to join her husband and moved away. Isobel frowned at Constantin. ‘There was no need for you to pretend that you are proud of me. I can fight my own battles,' she said drily.

Something in his bright blue eyes caused her breath to become trapped in her throat.

‘
I wasn't pretending
.
I
am
proud of you, Isabella. You weren't born into wealth and privilege like I was, or like Ghislaine. Everything you have achieved has been through your talent, hard work and determination.'

Isobel swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. ‘But you resented the time I spent performing with the band. You blamed my career for driving us apart.'

Constantin grimaced. ‘I didn't understand how important music and singing were to you. I believed you preferred to spend time with your friends than with me, and deep down I knew I could not blame you,' he admitted roughly. He met her gaze, and Isobel saw regret in his eyes. ‘I had my reasons for drawing away from you, and I see now that you thought I was rejecting you.' He glanced around the crowded ballroom. ‘This is not the place to discuss our relationship,
cara,
' he said ruefully. ‘I'll go and get us a drink.'

Isobel watched him stride across the room to the bar and had the strangest feeling that he felt tense at the prospect of a discussion about their relationship that was long overdue. She had been stunned to hear him say he was proud of her career. His admiration meant a lot, she acknowledged. For so long she had lived in the shadow of her clever brother, and her failure to match Simon's academic achievements or fulfil her father's expectations had made her feel useless and unworthy of the rich, handsome, successful man she had married. Now she felt she was Constantin's equal, but was it too late for them to turn their marriage around and be lifelong partners?